


Gimme Some of that Backwoods Blood Magic   ~ or ~  Harry Potter and the Trapper Keeper of the Apocalypse

by Dart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Protective Daryl Dixon, Younger Daryl Dixon, Younger Merle Dixon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:46:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 42,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27197351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dart/pseuds/Dart
Summary: In which a younger Daryl Dixon steals Harry Potter, Merle Dixon will make a deal to detox over someone's dead body, Death is probably having a really bad day because: all this zombie nonsense is not okay, and oblivious boys really should have listened to the ladies.Currently: pre-ZANow with chickens!Because we all need nice things.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 607
Kudos: 674
Collections: Harry Potter Crossovers, Not to be misplaced





	1. Woodland Creatures and Misdemeanors

**Author's Note:**

> While this will have large chunks of canon shrapnel, this thing is taking a solid left turn at Albuquerque. Liberties will be taken.
> 
> I'm going to have to update the tags as I go, but be warned: this contains Merle Dixon, the entire Walking Dead zombie apocalypse thing, and Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
> 
> This starts after the school year ends in "Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix" and before the zombie apocalypse in The Walking Dead. Sirius died during the Battle of the Ministry, but Voldemort did not show up for it. Daryl and Merle are younger than canon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Daryl Dixon goes hunting for woodland creatures and misdemeanors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: aftermath of child abuse
> 
> Please note: “Relationship Tags to be Added”. And OTHER TAGS to be added in general. This story isn’t written yet. And even when I start out stories with a particular relationship in mind, I’ve had characters come in and hijack things and completely upend everything. So, if you don’t mind uncertainty, that’s great. But if you need to know exactly what you are getting into before you read a story, maybe bookmark it and check the tags when it’s done?
> 
> Because I don’t actually know what’s going to happen for sure until it’s written. I will tag as I go.
> 
> I will also use content warnings. It isn’t my intention to spring things on people.

Daryl thought he’d take a closer look around the vacation rental cabin while he was this far East. Rich folks were a special kind of stupid. You never knew what valuable or at least useful things they might leave laying around. Maybe he’d be bringing something good home. 

Hopefully that fat fucker he’d seen loading the SUV on his first pass would have already cleared out for the day. Daryl had collected more than one of the fancy Zippos at a fire ring, a smartphone, cameras, bottle of Jack. He never went in the cabins. Not interested in getting a B&E. Wasn’t ever gonna live in no cage.

* * *

He didn’t even make it to the clearing. 

* * *

Daryl stayed silent, hidden, watching the boy in the creek. Black hair all tousled. Naked as a jaybird. Like some kind of goddamn wood nymph. _The fuck?_

The boy had just raised a cupful of water over his scrawny shoulder when he tensed up and looked around. “Who’s there?”

Bright green eyes swept the bank like he was hoping to find a weapon tucked somewhere in the eastern bluestar and summersweet. He looked worried for a second, but then he puffed up like he’d got something to bring. Like he was fixing to whoop some ass instead of being weaponless and naked, squatting in a creek.

“Come on. I know you’re there.”

 _No you don’t,_ Daryl thought, _I was silent._

But then the kid looked right at where he was standing and said, “I can _feel_ you watching me.”

Daryl stepped out so the kid could see him. Easy stance, crossbow unloaded and pointed at the ground. The kid looked him over and visibly relaxed. 

_What the fuck?_ Who saw a dirty redneck with a crossbow step out from where they had been hiding and watching you _bathe_ and went “Oh thank goodness!”?! He’s used to people not making no sense, but this don’t make no damn sense.

Daryl scuffed the ground with the toe of his boot for a bit, then looked up. “The fuck you bathin’ in the crick for?”

“The fuck you watching me bathe in the creek for?”

Sassy little fucker. Although, point. “I was huntin’. Now I’m tryin’ to figure out what looney bin you must’ve escaped from.”

“Escape?” the boy scoffed. “This is the bin.” Then he shrugged and said, “I’m not allowed to use the shower.”

“Ya could just stink.” 

The boy gestured behind him and winced. “My shirt’s stuck. I don’t want it to get infected.” 

That explained the wincing as he bathed. 

“Ya hurtin’?”

The kid nodded. Watching him. Wary, but not fearful. He pulled his black hair back off of his face like he was waiting for something. _Kid’s got pretty eyes._ Daryl ain’t one to point out scars, but fuck if something hadn’t gone and fucked up the kid’s forehead. 

Daryl jerked his head that little bit and said, “Lemme see.” 

The kid turned just enough to show his back. Raggedy shirt hanging from bloody welts gone crusty.

Daryl set down his bow and pulled out a small jar.

“I got some salve. Prevent infection.”

The kid raised his eyebrows, but then held out his hand. All imperious and shit.

“Shirt’s gotta come off first,” Daryl said, curling the jar back toward his chest.

The kid rolled his eyes and wiggled his still held out hand. Daryl glowered, but handed it over. The kid removed the lid and instead of sticking his nose in the jar like a fool, wafted it a bit. He grimaced at the smell. Daryl grunted. _Course it stinks._

But then the kid closed the jar and nodded his approval. “Nastiest smelling shite always works the best.”

Daryl recapped the jar and set it aside. Then he started unlacing his boots to pull them off.

“I’s out huntin’. Saw that fat fucker. He yer daddy?”

The kid looked like he just got fed maggots. “Uncle.”

“He do this?”

The kid shrugged. “Most?”

“He beat anyone else?”

“No, the wanker dotes on his son and wife.”

Daryl pulled off his socks and tucked them in his boots. “Ya talk all funny. Where ya from?”

“England.” Then the kid smirked. “Maybe _you_ talk all funny.’

“At least he hasn’t beat the sass outta ya.”

“Better men have tried, Mr. Hunter, better men have tried.”

Daryl waded into the creek, arms loose at his sides, eyes down and off to the side, he was used to approaching skittish critters. _Easy now._

The kid stood still enough and let Daryl help him get his shirt loose. Kid hadn’t hollered, but Daryl knew just how much that hurt. He got a good look and sucked in air. The kid slumped and tried to turn away. Daryl held the part of his shoulder that wasn't bloodied with welts. The kid wriggled. 

“Hold still and let me look at it.”

Kid gave more of a subdued wiggle.

“Easy,” Daryl coaxed him like some kinda wild animal. _Real easy. Gentle voice and soft hands._ He rubbed his thumb where he was holding the kid’s shoulder. “If it gets infected is that fat fucker gonna take you to the hospital?”

The kid just snorted.

He shook the kid’s shoulder. “Well?”

“He wouldn’t pour water on me if I was on fire and he was already holding a bucket.”

Daryl flinched, he can’t not react to fire.

“You wanna die over this?”

Kid shrugged his shoulders and moved his hand in a 50/50 so-so kinda bullshit. Like he was thinking _yeah, maybe._

“Don't be a dumbass. I‘m not lettin’ ya die over this shit.”

“It wouldn’t kill me. It just hurts like a bitch.”

“C’mon.” Daryl gave the kid a hand up out of the creek. “Yer back can just air dry, but put yer pants on for fucksakes.”

It was hot and there was a breeze, so it didn’t take too long before the kid was ready for the salve. Of course, the kid had started wriggling again like a goddamn nightcrawler. Hadn’t even touched him yet. He spun his finger for the kid to turn around.

“Now hold still, so I can doctor it.”

And the kid did. The kid didn’t flinch or complain about the smell or nothing. He just took it. Only his breathing sounded put out. Once he’d gotten the kid’s back taken care of, once it was _glistening_ with it, Daryl stepped back and bit his thumbnail, thinking. But then he had to turn and spit because the salve tasted like ass. Goddamn his inability to keep his fucking fingers out of his damn mouth. Least it wasn't shit. He gnawed on a clean knuckle, thinking.

The kid turned and leaned far enough to meet his eyes. “Thank you.”

Daryl’s eyes skittered away, but he gave a quick nod. Cheeks pinking up, embarrassed at the thanks. Wasn’t no use considering. He knew, in his gut, what he was gonna do. 

He pulled his hand away from his mouth, and said,“I ain’t lettin’ you stay here.”

The kid froze.

“I ain’t lettin’ that fat fucker beat you no more.”

A lot of feelings flashed on the kid’s face, but Daryl couldn’t read them all. Sad. Hopeful. Skeptical. Crushed.

A slight nod of decision. Daryl unbuttoned his shirt and yanked it off. He never let anyone see his back. Never wanted anyone seeing, but fuck if he was gonna hide and leave the kid to this shit. He felt sick in a way that throwing up just the once wasn't going to fix, but he turned to let the kid look. Tensed. Held still, but coiled. Waited. Eyes scrunched shut, teeth grinding his cheek The kid didn’t make a peep, but then. Then Daryl felt fingers brush along his back. Daryl flinched, but then let his muscles loosen. A fraction. He opened his eyes.

“I ain’t lettin’ him beat you no more,” Daryl repeated, his voice hoarse.

“Okay.” 

Daryl jerked his shirt back on. 

“You’s comin’ with me.”

The kid looked hopeful but skeptical and something else that had Daryl's hackles raising.

Always quick to take offense, Daryl scowled and barked, “Redneck ain’t good enough for ya?” 

The kid flinched and asked, “What’s a redneck?”

Goddamn his quick temper. _Easy. Just like a skittish animal._

“Look, I ain’t got much, but no one’s gonna beat you,” he gave a pointed look at the kid’s ribs “and I ain’t gonna let ya starve.” Then he looked the kid in the eye. “Is that gonna be enough?”

Kid said, “Yes.”

“Then what the fuck was that look for?”

“If you get tired of me and bring me back, it’ll be so much worse.”

“Green Eyes, I will kill him before I let you come back here.”

“Really?”

“I don't _never_ say shit I don't mean. I don’t fancy prison. But it’ll have to be over someone’s dead body that you come back here. And it sure as hell ain’t gonna be mine.”

Daryl gave the kid a nudge toward the cabin. 

“Will they report you missing?”

Kid snorted. “They’ll throw a party when they find me gone.”

“Ya sure?”

“Uncle’s been talking about leaving my body in the woods since I got out of school. Cousin will likely throw a fit he didn’t get to hunt me, but I don’t think even he’s stupid enough to tell the police that.”

“The fuck?”

“I’ve tried running away back home, but I’m always…returned.”

“If yer smart about it, ain’t no one gonna find ya here. Just gotta cover our tracks.”

As they approached the cabin, the kid warned, “I’m a trouble magnet.”

Daryl snorted. “You drew me to ya, didn’t ya?”

The kid gave him a look.

“G’on. Get yer things.”


	2. Long Range Hunting Forecast: 100% Chance of Felonies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry packs. Daryl has a smoke.

Harry went into the cabin and went straight to the enormous refrigerator and made himself a bacon butty. Then he cracked open a Pepsi-cola. He had had his first, second, and third soda ever on the aeroplane. The flight attendant would not stop going on and on about his gorgeous eyes. Eh, he wasn’t above making puppy dog eyes to score extra snacks and drinks.

He scarfed down less than half and then he went and got his rucksack, a present from Hermione. She had blown her top when she had finally gotten it out of him that it wasn’t laziness, he actually couldn’t do his summer homework until the Hogwarts Express because Vernon kept all of his things locked up. Hell hath no fury like Hermione presented with an obstacle to schoolwork. It was _brilliant_. The inside had multiple compartments with undetectable expansion charms, food preservation charms, return-to-me, theftproof, featherlight charms, the works. And most importantly a notice-me-not charm so Uncle Vernon couldn’t see it to burn it. His empty trunk was still locked up tight back in Little Whinging, but all of his possessions were in his rucksack, except for the hand-me-downs from Dudley, those were in the small tattered brown suitcase.

Well, his rucksack didn’t have all of his things. Vernon and Dudley had seen to that. They would always grab anything Harry had in his possession. The wings pin the flight attendant had given him for his first flight ever. The paperback the businessman next to him on the airplane had given him once he finished it. The pen he had found wedged into the in-flight magazine. Vernon had used the paperback to start the fire the first night, but surely the other things were still here. Somewhere.

“Accio Harry Potter’s Things Stolen by the Dursleys.”

There was a great whizzing. It sounded a bit like the room of flying keys back in first year on the way to the stone.

“Oh shite!” Harry ducked into the pantry and pulled the door shut, just as a great number of things thudded against it. He opened the door a crack, and when there wasn’t a second assault, he opened it further. There was a giant pile of…well, _everything_ on the floor outside the pantry door.

“Merlin’s Beard!”

On top of the Dursleys’ souvenirs from the trip so far was a very thick large parchment envelope which if Harry wasn’t mistaken…“Gringotts?”

Harry opened the envelope and pulled out the letter inside, ignoring for now the _stacks of cash._

**“Dear Madame Dursley,**

  
**This is the money you requested for Harry James Potter’s summer holiday. This money may only be used for Harry Potter’s room, board, entertainment, personal possessions, and souvenirs.**

_Blah blah blah._

  
**Place your wand here for Account Details and Statement.”**

  
Harry whipped his wand out of his holster. And read. And read and read. _  
_

“Those troll turds!"

Harry had _money_ , well beyond the school vault for his Hogwarts expenses and Gringotts had been paying the Dursleys thousands of pounds every year. _Burden_ , his arse. _Goodness of their hearts_ , Merlin’s saggy ballsack. He was beyond pissed off. Shite was starting to rattle in the cabin. _Right. Calm the fuck down._

Harry poked his head out the front door.

The hunter took a drag off his cigarette and looked him over. “Y’alright? Heard a crash.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic. Change of plans.”

The hunter did that flex his arms while half looming thing of his. "I ain’t leavin’ ya here.”

Harry snorted. “Damn right. I’m taking everything of value and burning this place down to cover my tracks.”

The hunter looked _stricken_ for just a moment, but then looked away and took another, longer drag. After he exhaled, he turned back to give Harry a stony stare. “What brought the pyromania on, Green Eyes? If ya like settin’ shit on fire, we’s gonna have a problem.”

“What? No! I was just looking around and found some bank papers. My parents left me money. My relatives have been stealing thousands a year living the high life while they beat and starve me. That’s why I’m taking everything with me and I need to cover my tracks.”

“This ain’t no kidnappin’. And I ain’t goin’ to the big house for no arson neither.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Fine. Tell me how to burn this place down to best cover my tracks. I’ll commit the arson.”

The hunter fiddled with his lighter for a while, like he was thinking about it. “Fire’s not good enough. Fire Inspector’ll know ya set it. They can tell all kinds of things if they’re any good.” And then more to himself than to Harry he said, “If they fucking bother.” He put the lighter away and looked up and said, “Nah,” —the hunter quirked his lips—“what ya need’s an _explosion.”_

Harry’s face lit up. But then he was puzzled and asked, “But you said setting shite on fire was a problem.”

“Blowing shit up’s different. Now quit yappin’ and start pullin’ out the shit ya wanna take with ya. Keep in mind we gotta carry it through the woods a good ways. I’m gonna take a look around outside, see what we can use.” He called back over his shoulder, “Don’t pack up none o’the booze yet.”

Once back inside, Harry looked down at Dudley’s hand-me-downs, and grimaced. _Barf_. He stuck his hand in the rucksack and said, “Accio school uniform.” He wasn’t wearing these rags a moment longer than he had to. They could all die a fiery death.

Harry was taking _everything_ on principle. He left a pile of the good and easily explainable stuff like Dudley’s new hiking backpack (as if Dudley would have ever used it), an appalling number of knives, some sort of bow, guns, and ammo that Vernon and Dudley had bought while clearly suffering from delusions of Rambo. Dudley’s new second spare iphone. Costco card, gift cards for restaurants, and stacks and stacks of cash.

But all the other shite, the bed linens and towels, the dishes and silverware, every book, etc. would all get chucked into Harry’s rucksack. He was a little too enamored with the undetectable expansion charm and Hermione had told him to practice his wandless shrinking charm. She said it wouldn’t hurt what with the sort of nonsense they got up to. Said he should _take advantage_ of being out of the Ministry’s jurisdiction.

Next he took Dudley’s carryon backpack and dumped its usable contents into his rucksack. He would put ice packs and any refrigerated items in it. So he could explain where the roast for dinner came from. For once, he was glad the Dursleys were such gluttons, he was looking forward to eating the ridiculous amount of food they, rather _he_ had bought at Costco. All of the rest of the food went right into its compartment in his rucksack.

Harry gave a startled laugh. Was it stupid to go off with a stranger in the backwoods of Georgia? Harry’s laugh turned into a snort. When he’d first felt the eyes, he was worried that the Death Eaters had found him. But the man clearly wasn’t a wizard. Harry had brushed his fringe off his forehead to check, but there was no recognition. An unkempt man with a crossbow, squirrels hanging from his belt and a funny accent. He felt a pang at missing Hagrid. Maybe the hunter was the keeper of this forest? Harry had relaxed, trusted him somewhat. His magic sure didn’t complain. It gave him a good feeling. And it only got stronger the more the hunter tended his wounds. A summer without being beaten and starved and with no one actively trying to kill him? That sounded like paradise. Maybe Georgia wouldn't be so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the first task of the Triwizard Tournament where Harry had accio’d his broom, the Weasley Twins and he had taken to playing a game with higher points for the most elaborately worded accios and the longest distance crossed.


	3. Shut up, Merle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We regret to inform you that Daryl Dixon cannot grow up to be the Badass of the Apocalypse because he dies of embarrassment and shame from unintentionally making a literary reference.
> 
> Shut up, Merle.

Daryl was out covering his and the kid’s tracks at the creek. He gritted his teeth at the sound of his big brother Merle’s voice in his head.

“Didn’t learn your lesson about dragging strays home, Daryleena?”

“Shut up, Merle. Daddy's not here no more.”

Merle sneered, “Look at ya. Can’t keep nothin’ alive.”

Daryl scowled. “I _said_ he’s not here no more. I keep myself alive just fine.”

“Shit. I raised ya. I'm the only one that has ever given a shit about ya. And I'm the only one who ever will.”

“Ya ain’t here Merle. Ya ain’t never here.”

Daryl flipped off thin air and stomped back to the cabin.

The boy came back out onto the porch in some kind of fancy get up.

“The hell ya wearin’? Ya think I live at the Ritz?” 

The kid flinched at his tone, but squared up and said, “School uniform. I had it with me. I’m not wearing those rags anymore.”

Daryl let the corner of his mouth curl up. “Thank fuck for that. Then he walked up the steps. “Show me what yer thinkin’ of takin’.”

Daryl hadn’t ever been inside such a fancy and clean house, but he didn’t have time for gawking. He looked over all the crap the kid drug out.

“I’m carrying my rucksack with my things,” the boy pointed to the bag at his feet. Then he pointed to a big hiking backpack and said, “Makeshift cooler for the perishables.”

Daryl kicked at it. “Got any meat in there? We’re gonna have to book it home. Won’t have time for huntin’.”

The boy grinned. “We’ll be set for days.”

Daryl kicked at the pile of weapons. “Jesus. Thought you was kiddin’ about yer cousin huntin’ ya."

“Yeah…no. I was seri—“ the kid winced and cut himself off. “I was not kidding about that.”

"Took _The Most Dangerous Game_ as an instruction manual, I reckon?” Daryl chewed on his lip, and raised his eyebrow.

“Pardon?”

 _Shit._ Daryl hid behind his hair. He just knew his ears were turning red. _A literary reference._ Merle in his head was never going to let him live that down. He fucking hated talking to people. No damn idea how to do it. That story must not be fancy enough for a school that required _uniforms._ He mumbled, “Had to read it in school. Forget it.”

“Oh, Dudley doesn’t read. I’m not even sure if he can.”

Daryl bent down to pick through the weapons and more importantly to hide his face. “The hell they buy all this shit for?”

“Delusions of Rambo?”

“Stupid fuckers. When the fuck will we ever need a machete? No sense blowin’ it up. What we don’t use, you can sell later.” Then he nudged the stacks of cash. “They rob a goddamn bank or somethin’?”

“That’s what’s left of the money they stole out of my account for this trip.”

Daryl eyed the cash. It was more money than he'd ever seen, _hell_ , ever would see in his life. He could hear Merle crowing. “Oooh eee! Take the money and run, Daryleena!” Daryl scowled.

“Kid, ya shouldn’t be lettin’ _anyone_ know ya got money. Why the fuck ya lettin’ me see that? Ain’t ya got no sense at all?”

“But I can help pay for things! I don’t think I can get more, but this should last us, right?”

“Yeah, if you’re real careful. And ya get some _goddamn sense_ right quick.”

Daryl turned his back on the money and picked up a bottle of whiskey and smirked. “Ya ever made a Molotov cocktail, Green Eyes?”

“No.”

“I’s gonna learn ya. You’s gonna _love_ ’em,” he said with a quick grin. “First let’s carry all this a ways out into the woods, so I can cover our tracks. Then I’m gonna show you how to turn on the gas and get this place ready to go. Then we’ll throw the Molotovs and run like hell.”

The kid's face lit up like the sun coming out when he said, “Brilliant.”


	4. Hiss Hiss KABOOM, Motherfucker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Daryl discovers Accidental Teen Acquisition can be really damned hard on your very last nerve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the lovely comments drove me to get this new chapter posted. Enjoy! :)

It looked like the hunter was still off covering their tracks. Harry took a deep breath. _Now for the hard part._ He went around the side of the cabin and found her sunning herself on a large rock. 

_“I’m leaving,”_ Harry hissed softly. 

The snake was in her _lesser form_ as she called it. Much smaller, hornless, and with no gem flashing like a diamond on her forehead. She raised her head. _“Up.”_

He knelt down. _“Don’t you want to stay?”_

_“My silly hatchling. I come with you. Up.”_

Harry held out his arm. 

_“Can I bite the bad pig first?”_

_“No, I told you no. Every single day," he hissed in a decidedly put upon fashion._

She hissed her displeasure.

_“We’re burning down this nest. Then we’re going to live with someone else.”_

_“Will I get to bite him?”_

_“Never. He helped me.”_

_“Yes, your back smells better.”_

_“He doctored it.”_

_“Ok. No biting. Up!”_ she hissed. 

“The hell?!” the hunter said. He’d come around the side of the cabin to see what was taking Green Eyes so long. 

Harry turned between the snake and the hunter who was wielding his crossbow.

“She’s my pet!” Harry protested.

Snake hissed. _“You are my hatchling.”_ She wrapped around his arm proprietarily. 

“The hell kind of snake is that, Green Eyes?”

Harry shrugged. “She’s my pet. She won’t bite you.”

“Shoulda had her bite that fat fucker.” 

The snake moved her head to give Harry a _look_. “ _Told you so.”_

Harry kicked at the dirt. “I told her not to.” 

The hunter scoffed and said, “She tries bitin’ me, I’m going to roast her over a fire.”

The snake reared back and hissed.

“Just so we’re clear,” the hunter said, and then he stalked off around the corner.

She hissed, _“Take me inside. I want to see something.”_

“Oh, hang on. I need one more thing,” Harry called out.

“C’mon kid. We ain’t got all damn day. You got a cabin to blow up and then we gotta get the fuck outta here.”

“I know, I know. Just five minutes.”

While his snake was up to whatever it was she was doing, Harry made one last pass to make sure he got every last thing. She finally hissed that she was ready. He picked her up and they went back to the front porch.

 _“Now_ can we light this fucker up?” the hunter demanded.

* * *

“Listen up,” the hunter said, looking Harry in the eye for once, “I’m gonna throw first. Which you will _deny to your dying day._ Right through that window there, then you’re throwing immediately after, then we’re gonna run like hell.”

They pitched the bottles and ran like a Cerberus was on their tails.

The hunter must have felt the change in air pressure or _something_ because he said, “Shit!” just as Harry felt an influx of magic. Then Harry was tackled to the ground, protectively caged beneath the hunter. Instinct had him throwing up a shield charm. It was more his magic reacting than conscious thought.

The world lit on fire. There was a series of loud booms, but the light was constant. Blinding. Even with his eyes closed. And the heat. _Fuck._

When he finally opened his eyes, his snake looked pleased, _far too pleased_ with herself.

He flicked her on the head. Gently. It was the thought that counts.

She hissed, _“I shielded you. You shielded you. The hunter shielded you. I don’t know why you’re bitching.”_

The hunter groaned and rolled off of him, then panicked hands were running over Harry. “Y’alright, Green Eyes? Ya burnt?” He looked pale, terrified. “Shrapnel?” He gave Harry a shake. “Answer me!”

“I’m—I’m fine,” Harry said, then started patting down the hunter, “Are you okay? You shielded me with your body, you had to have gotten the worst of it.”

The hunter flinched back and stood up and spun around. “The goddamn hell was _that_?!” he yelled. 

The snake hissed, _“I just left a few scales to help.”_

Harry was staring slack jawed at the smoking crater. “That was amazing!’ 

The hunter looked Harry over again, his hands were still shaking.“Ya sure y’alright?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” Harry made to run his hand along the hunter’s arm, “Are you okay?”

The hunter jerked back. “We better move our asses. That’s gonna draw every motherfucker within ten miles at least.”


	5. Follow Me Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry follows the hunter towards home. Always remember to pack snacks, folks.

Once they'd walked a good long ways in silence, the hunter held up his hand for them to stop. 

“A’ight, we’s far enough away,” he said quietly and shook out a cigarette. “I need to take a fuckin’ moment.”

Harry nodded and looked around. He had no idea what any of these trees were. Neville would be appalled. 

After what must have been an adequate amount of nicotine, the hunter ran the back of his hand across his mouth and jaw and said, “Can't believe I didn't shit my pants. _Christ.”_ But then he smiled, a small contained thing and shook hs head in what might have been wonder.

“Those Molotovs were really something,” Harry said with a grin.

“Nah,” the hunter said, looking right at him, “That was somethin’ else.”

Harry tensed. _Was he saying—_

The hunter looked off to the side. “D’jeet somethin’?”

“Pardon?”

“Ya _hungry_?”

“Oh. No, I had a bacon butty.”

“The hell’s that?”

“Bacon on a roll. You Americans have strange bacon. I quite like it." Harry fished around in his side pocket. “Here, I packed you one.” He looked down at it and wrinkled his nose. "Sorry, it might have gotten a little squished."

The hunter eyed the sandwich. “When’s the last time you ate ‘fore that?”

Harry snorted. “Breakfast the day school let out?”

He jerked his head. “G’on. You eat it.” 

“I can’t eat that much at one time yet or I’ll be sick. Besides, I still have the other half of mine.”

The hunter nodded and took the sandwich. He gave it a look that was two parts covetous and fifty-five parts suspicious. He gave it a sniff, and then he shrugged and wolfed it down.

“You ain’t gonna go hungry with me.” Then he eyed Harry “Sos’long as you’re not a picky cityslicker.”

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. “I prefer wet cat food over dry.”

The hunter scowled. “Ya shoulda let yer snake bite that fat fucker.”

“Don't encourage her, she’ll be insufferable.”

The snake popped her head out of the neck of his shirt, right on cue.

“She got a name?”

Harry could feel himself going a bit pink. “Sassafras.”

The hunter huffed. “Don’t ya know that's a kind of _tree?”_

“Don't encourage her,” Harry whinged. “She already thinks I'm _her_ dumb little kid.”

“ _Sassafras_.” The hunter snorted and quirked his lip. “Fitting."

Harry raised his eyebrows in confusion. _How could he possibly know how she got her name?_

The hunter said, "Goes with _SassyAss.”_ There was that little smile again.

Harry just looked at him.

“Catch flies with yer mouth hangin’ open like that. C’mon, SassyAss. We still got a ways to go.”

Harry started to say, “My name’s—”

But the hunter slashed his hand through the air. “No names. Not yet. I came across your dumb ass out in the woods. Lost and banged up. And you wouldn’t say nothing. In case anyone comes lookin’. Ya understand?” 

"Yes, I've never seen you a day in my life."

The hunter _growled_ at him.

Harry held up his hands and stifled a laugh. "I understand. I was lost in the woods. Disoriented. I have no idea who I am or how I got here. Probably amnesia. I'm not to talk. You're just leading me out of the woods."

"Following me home like a stray dog more like," the hunter grumbled. Then he turned and led on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to know if you're out there reading. Even a " :) " will do.


	6. Harry makes a friend. (If by friend you mean sassy overbearing materteral magical creature.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to when Harry met Sassafras.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to have this come out later in the story, but then it occurred to me that would be several chapters away, so I decided to write it now.
> 
> I originally went with maternal in the title, but then decided maybe auntlike would be more fitting, so you are welcome for today’s inadvertent vocabulary lesson. The things I look up for you people. _sigh_ ;)

He and the Dursleys hadn't been at the cabin in Georgia very long. Harry was out wandering along the stream in the woods. He sat down and patted the tree next to him and mumbled to himself, “I wonder what kind of tree this is.”

_“Sassafras, you tiny oaf of a hatchling.”_

“Thanks, I—” Harry's mind caught up to his mouth as he was turning toward the voice.

It was a snake who had spoken. A snake as big as a tree. A snake with impressive horns. And what looked like a massive diamond on her head.

He gulped and hissed back, “ _Oh hello, Sassafras. What a pretty name. My name’s Harry. I am very pleased to meet you.”_

 _“A speaker!”_ The snake hissed, and then in a less surprised and much more condescending hiss, “ _That's the kind of tree, you dense hatchling.”_

“ _Well, you're as big as a tree trunk.”_

_“Did you just call me fat?”_

_“Normally I’d be worried I was about to die, but I survived being bitten by a basilisk, so…”_ He shrugged.

_“Bitten by a basilisk! Clearly you shouldn't be allowed out of the nest without supervision.”_

Harry had never heard a snake sigh before.

“ _How did you survive?” she hissed._

_“My friend, Fawkes, he's a Phoenix, came and cried on the wound just before I died.”_

_“A Phoenix!”_ she hissed in a fashion that sounded a lot like scoffing. “ _Oh. Well. You know what they say about Phoenixes…"_

_“I actually have no idea.”_

_“They're less terrible than a Thunderbird.”_

_“What's a Thunderbird?”_

_“A hemipenis with wings. Cloacas, the lot of them.”_

Harry laughed. (And Hermione said Care of Magical Creatures wasn't a worthwhile class.)

“ _How in the world did you find a basilisk?”_

“ _Oh, it was at my school. It was moving around through the pipes, petrifying students.”_

“ _Ugh. Basilisks are like, the fifth worst. Come along, hatchling.”_

_“But…but I have to return to my own nest! I have to cook dinner. Or else.”_

Another sigh. Harry hadn't realized a snake could sound so put upon. 

“ _Fiiiiiiiiine,”_ she hissed. Then she shrunk down and down and down until she was the size of a normal snake.

“ _Wow!”_

_“This is my lesser form. I’ll come with you like this. Now carry me. It is my due.”_

Harry shrugged. He was used to being ordered around. “ _Fine. No biting.”_

She swung her head around and looked at him. “ _Is there someone I should be biting?”_ She looked a little eager.

Harry stopped. “ _I mean it. No biting. And you can't let my relatives see you. Ever.”_

He was learning a lot about snakes today, he had no idea they had the equivalent to hmmmmm in their language. 

“ _I don't like it, but clearly you can't be left to your own devices. I will come with you to your nest, I will stay hidden, and I will not bite anyone before sundown.”_

Harry shrugged. He wouldn't know what to do if someone ever met all of his demands.

 _"What should I call you then?"_ he hissed. 

_"Your Highness is perfectly acceptable."_

_"Right. Sassafras it is."_

She gave him a _look._

_"You said yourself. No biting before sunset," he reminded her._

She turned her head away, but then whapped him upside the head with her tail. Harry laughed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The things I look up for you people now includes snake anatomy. I hope you are happy. _put upon sigh_ ;)


	7. Great Uncle Coy’s Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Sassafras leaves the boys unsupervised. ~or~ Some sort of home/supper/sleep.

Daryl stamped down that anxious rolling, churning feeling in his belly. He couldn't be worrying about what Green Eyes would think.

Daryl had lived in this old house out in the woods since his mama burnt down their little house in town with her in it. This place had been his Great Uncle Coy’s. And like with anything Will Dixon touched, it suffered from equal parts violence and neglect. 

Rundown. Holes in the walls from fists and bullets. Leaky roof. Porch sagging. Broken. He couldn’t remember a time it hadn’t stunk of blood, sweat, stale beer, cigarettes, and fear. He’d been too little then. Or more likely his daddy had just beat those sense memories out of him.

Great Uncle Coy was a stubborn old cuss, but he’d done one thing right. This place couldn't be sold or mortgaged. He’d done that out of spite. Had it passed to the youngest generation of Dixons. Some sort of joint trust, Merle said. So neither Merle nor their daddy could lose this place. Lawyers couldn't keep it from falling down though. It would have been an all right place if his daddy hadn't ever set foot in it, but as it was, _well._ Daryl didn't like being inside that house. Couldn't settle. Even after all this time, he held his breath at the threshold, worried about how bad a mood his daddy would be in.

“He ain't here no more,” Daryl said under his breath, his hand on the doorknob.

“Pardon?” Green Eyes piped up.

 _Damn kid and his dog ears._ “Said ‘ain't no one else here.’ Not right now. I got a big brother, Merle. Probably out whorin’.” He pushed open the door and said, “It ain’t much.” Then kicked himself for saying anything.

“It’s great.”

Daryl gave the kid a look of angry disbelief.

“I mean it. There’s an abandoned house near my school called the Shrieking Shack that I would have gladly spent my summers in if I could have gotten away with it. Daydreamed about it quite a bit actually.”

“Shrieking shack?”

“There were…noises. Everyone thought it was haunted.” Then the kid looked like he was doing arithmetic just before he asked, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Of course I do.”

The kid looked real surprised.

“Always shit that can’t be explained." Daryl thought of that chupacabra. “Seen all kinds of things deep in the woods.”

“It doesn’t scare you?”

“I ain’t scared of _nothin’!!”_ Daryl practically shouted.

“I do too. Believe, that is, but people tend to…get _upset_ over things…like that.”

“Yeah well, people are assholes. And stupid. That's why I hate ‘em. Speakin' of assholes, where's that snake o'yours?"

The kid choked back a laugh. "Probably outside hunting. I would _not_ call her that within earshot.”

“Ya gotta buy her anything or can she take care of herself?”

“Oh, she can take care of herself all right. She humors me with her presence, whether I like it or not.”

“Good. I ain’t _buyin’_ no mice for no snake. C’mon. You can put yer things in my room.”

Daryl dropped the backpack with the cold things by the fridge. “Electric’s on for now, but I don' always get the bill paid.”

The kid started unpacking the meat and things.

Daryl said, “Talked more to you today than I have anyone in years. It's making my skin crawl. I’m goin’ outside for awhile. _Alone.”_

Kid gave him a thumbs up and made to zip his lips. Daryl huffed. _SassyAss._

* * *

Daryl came back after he'd checked his traps and done a few of the fiddly chores. He’d needed to let his mind and body work in quiet. He thought he’d see what the kid was up to. He heard him in the kitchen.

“The hell you doin’?”

The kid froze at the sound of Daryl’s voice. “Fixing dinner?”

“‘’s’all this fancy shit on the table?”

“I set the table? For dinner?”

Daryl studied him then yanked a piece of fabric off the table. “The hell are these?”

“Cloth napkins? From the cabin. I wrapped the glass jars in them so they wouldn’t break.”

Daryl wasn’t sure what to do, so he glared at him.

Green Eyes glared right back. “If I didn’t have all the fancy shite out and perfect, I got smacked upside the head or worse. You can _glare_ all you want.”

Daryl finally admitted, “’m not used ta it.”

“Buckle up, Butterup. You stole yourself a fucked up English kid. It’s all going to be strange from here on out.”

“Yeah well, I’m a fucked up redneck, reckon we make quite the pair.” Daryl gave a tiny smile.

The kid grinned at him. “Well, we sure started off with a _bang.”_

Daryl huffed. But then he thought about what he wanted to ask and scowled. He stepped closer. 

The kid went stiff. Well, _stiffer._ Then he curled in just a bit.

“Hey. _Hey!_ I ain’t gonna hurt ya. Just wantin’ to ask ya. Ya been doin’ all their cooking or somethin’?”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“I started when I was…three, I think?”

”Makin’ you cook it and not letting you _eat_ it?” he said with disgust.

The kid nodded.

“Look, you don’ hafta do all that if you don’ wanna. I mean, ‘xpect ya to help, but tha's different than those assholes.”

“Okay.”

“The fuck are these for anyway?” he asked, shaking a square of red cloth.

“You wipe your fingers and mouth on them?”

“The fuck? Fancy people ain't got a perfectly good tongue?”

The kid laughed and then turned his back on Daryl so he could get back to whatever it was he was doing. 

After a while, the kid said, “I know how to cook and there’s no sense wasting the food. So I’m cooking the most perishable things first.”

“A’ight.”

Daryl filled a glass of water and drank it, and then did it twice more. He could hear his Granny saying, “Thirsty work.” He used to help her in her garden. He liked holding the twine while she hammered in the stakes when she was making her rows. All laid out in perfectly straight lines. Letting a seed slip through his little fingers, every so many inches. Half lost in the memory, he found himself squinting at what the kid was doing. “What the fuck is that?” 

“Belgian Endive.”

Daryl glared. “What the fuck is _Belgian Endive.”_

“I don't know. Vegetable…leaf…thing? I’ve never had it, but it was in the refrigerator. My aunt had it on the menu.”

Daryl looked at it like it might bite him. Under his breath, he huffed out, _“Menu.”_

The kid shrugged. “I didn't want to throw it away.”

“A’ight, fix it up.”

The kid skittered around the kitchen a bit, but when he pulled something out of the fridge, he gave Daryl some serious side eye and then said, “Don't ask,” just as he plunked some sort of package on the counter.

Daryl raised an eyebrow.

“It’s supposed to be like that and that little package cost $20.”

Well, now Daryl _had_ to investigate. 

“It’s blue cheese,” the kid said.

“That shit they make moldy on purpose in them caves in France?”

“That's the one.”

Daryl wrinkled his nose.

“You and me both, mister, you and me both.”

“What else’s it call for?”

“Figs and pecans.”

“Pecans,” Daryl corrected.

The kid huffed. “That's what I said!”

“You say pecan funny.”

“I'm English. I say everything funny. According to _you.”_

“Course ya do, but I mean, it's _really_ funny. G’on, say it again.”

 _”Whatever._ Make yourself useful and quarter these figs lengthwise.”

Daryl set to work. “This is supper?” 

“It's the appetizer.”

Daryl huffed. “What else is on the _menu?”_

“It was supposed to be filet mignon, but those will keep.”

At Daryl’s raised eyebrow, the kid clarified, “Steak…things? Like I said, they’ll keep, so we’re having leftover roast chicken, and the twice baked potatoes are already in the oven.”

Once the kid had those leaf things all fixed up and stuffed in the oven, he was back in the fridge, rooting around.

“It says to serve this slightly chilled,” the kid said.

“What is it?”

“Amontillado.”

“Like the Cask of?” Daryl couldn't stop himself from asking.

The kid just looked confused. “It's a kind of sherry? Which I'm guessing is a wine, since it's in a…wine bottle?”

Then the kid pulled out two fancy glasses that sure as shit didn't come from this house. He gave a sheepish look, “I, uh, took these from the cabin.” Then he whipped out a corkscrew and opened that sucker up.

Daryl scrunched up his eyebrows and asked, “Ya ever drank before?” 

“I’d never even had a _soda_ until the aeroplane. And that was only because I was sitting away from my relatives. I got to try all kinds of things.”

“No wine with your in-flight meal?”

The kid blushed a bit. “It wasn't for a lack of trying. The flight attendant just patted me on the head and gave me my second Pepsi-cola. And a second dessert.”

Daryl snorted. “I bet ya batted them big green eyes at her as soon as ya sat down and she was fawnin’ all over ya the entire flight.”

The kid turned red. Daryl laughed. The kid poured the _amontillado_ in the fancy glasses. At Daryl’s raised eyebrow at the small amount, the kid said, “I think we're supposed to sip it with the appetizer.”

Then the timer was buzzing and the kid was pulling those leaf things out of the oven. He arranged them all fancy on a platter that sure as shit did not come from the Dixon household. He set it on the table and Daryl brought over the glasses and the bottle. Those fancy things felt just as fragile as they looked. Shit. He bet they wouldn't even last until Merle dragged his sorry ass home. 

“Least yer not havin’ peach schnapps or Malibu or some shit for yer first drink.”

The kid raised his glass and said, “Cheers.”

Daryl eyed it and very carefully clinked his glass against it. The kid took a sip outta his like a kitten trying to lap up milk. Daryl knocked his back.

“Well, I've had wine,” the kid said.

“Well, I've had _amontillado,”_ Daryl said, drawing the name out. “With a cork and outta a glass and everythang.”

“Now let's try these…leaf things,” the kid said eyeing the platter with what Daryl thought was probably an inadequate amount of fear.

“Mmmmmmm moldy leaf things,” Daryl said.

“On a count of three?”

“The fuck is going on in my mouth?” Daryl said through a mouthful of whatever the fuck that was.”

“Wow,” the kid said. Then he took a sip of the sherry. “Oh. Try it with a _sip_ this time,” he gave Daryl who was refilling his own glass for the third time, a _look._

“These things are fucking _weird,”_ Daryl said, but he kept eating them. He reckoned he was still trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. “Fine. I’ll _sip_ the _amontillado,_ Fancy Pants.”

Daryl took a real healthy sip.

“See? It’s good?” Then the kid held one up like he was toasting with it, “Moldy bitter leaf things.”

“I don’t hate it,” Daryl grumbled. He put a couple more on the kid’s plate and refilled the kid’s glass. Then he took a swig out of the bottle, just to see. He shrugged and then refilled his own glass. Glass was already dirty, might as well use it.

Then there was another buzzer and the kid was hopping up to pull out the potatoes.

“Do you still want the chicken? It’ll keep another day, if you don’t.”

“Let’s eat these potatoes first,” Daryl said, eyeing the strange looking things. “We can go from there.”

Daryl poked at his _twice-baked potato_ with his fork. “Now what's going on with this?”

“You bake them, then scoop out the inside and add cheese, sour cream, butter, bacon, chives, and put more cheese on top and then bake them again.”

Daryl took a bite. “Oh, _fuck me,”_ he said, then he stuffed in another mouthful. “Why'd we waste all our goddamn time on moldy leaves when we coulda been eatin’ _this?!”_

Daryl was working on his second potato when the kid asked, “You want me to throw away the endive?”

“Leave it,” Daryl said. He took another endive and stuffed it in his mouth, knocked back some sherry, then asked. “Ya got anymore bacon cooked up in the fridge.”

“Yes?”

“G’on and pull some out.”

The kid brought over a couple of pieces.

Daryl said, “Now crumble it up and stick it in the moldy leaf things.”

“Oh! Let me heat it up a smidge, it'll taste better.”

The kid brought over the warmed up bacon crumbles and sprinkled some on a couple of the leaves.

“Count o’three?” Daryl raised his eyebrow.

They each took a bite.

 _“Oh,”_ the kid said, “Brilliant idea.”

“G’on,” Daryl said, “Fix up the rest.”

Daryl finished off the endive and the rest of the kid’s potato.

“S’okay,” the kid half slurred, then overannunciated the shit out of saying, “The other po-ta-to and rest of the a-mon-teee-yaaa-do will keep. In the re-frige-ermer-ator.”

“Is that so, Fancy Pants? 

“‘s…so.”

Daryl fetched the kid a glass of water. “Drink this. D’ya bring any o’lil lardass’s handmedowns with ya?”

The kid got a shit eating grin. “No, I left them to —” he made exploding noises and waved his hands around.

“S’good. Lemme get you some o’my olduns.”

Daryl felt warm and his chest puffed out a bit when he saw Green Eyes come out in his old t-shirt hanging off the kid’s shoulder and old plaid sleep pants with the drawstring pulled so snug the waist was bunched up and he had the legs rolled up. Even his worn to shit clothes were better than the rags the kid’d been wearing. It might have been the _amontillado_ talking but the Merle in his head could fuck off, the kid was going to be _fine._

Daryl put the kid on the couch about ten, and went to his own room. Later he heard the kid creep in with a blanket and a pillow and curl up on the floor. He was quiet, but ain’t no one sneaking up on Daryl. He thought well, maybe the kid was scared sleeping out there, so he didn’t say nothing. That was sometime after midnight, but before two because two was when the kid started _screaming the goddamn house down._

Daryl grabbed his crossbow, but it turned out it was just nightmares.

“Hey! Hey! Green Eyes. Wake up.” He gave his arm a shake.

The kid woke up and scooted back, all curled up like Daryl was going to beat him. “Shite shite. Sorry! I’m sorry!”

Made Daryl feel sick. “Shut the fuck up. Ain’t no one killin’ ya.” Great, the kid was shaking and Daryl had practically gone all Merle on him. “Shit. Didn’t mean t’scare ya.”

At least the kid wasn't scooting back no more.

“I ain’t gonna beat ya fer fuck’s sake. _Fuck."_ _Gentle your voice, dumbass._ "I mean, it’s okay.”

The kid uncurled.

 _Don't talk like Merle. Don't talk like Merle._ “C’mon. Go back to sleep. Ain’t no one gonna hurt you.” 

The kid laid back down in his nest. “Sorry.”

“Ain’t your fault. Fuckin’ nightmares are a buncha bullshit.”

  
  



	8. Waking up is hard to do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waste not, want not, but coffee is sacred.

Harry woke with a kick to his leg and someone growling, “Wake up!” He automatically flinched into a ball, protecting his head. 

“Cut that shit out!” the gruff voice continued.

_Oh! It’s the hunter._

“I already told ya, I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” 

“You kicked me!” 

“Was just wakin’ ya up.” Then he grumbled, “Was barely a tap. ‘s how Merle wakes me up.”

“Yeah well, Merle sounds like an arsehole. You could just say ‘wake up’ or something,” Harry groused.

The hunter scowled at him. “I ain’t gonna braid yer hair and sing ya a song.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, “Do parents really do that?”

“Fuck if I know. Most often I got an empty beer bottle flung at my head.”

Harry thought maybe the hunter would be less scowly after breakfast. _Hope springs eternal._

* * *

 _First, coffee._ Harry saw the coffee maker and can of coffee on the counter, so he started a pot, just like he did at the Dursley’s. People were always even more terrible when there was no coffee. Then he started rooting around the refrigerator and cabinets. 

_He was free! Sure, his new housemate? friend? wild animal in human form? was—where was he going with this? Oh yeah, the hunter. He did bring to mind a stray dog. Standoffish, all bark, but_ **_hungry._ **

_Right. Stray Dogs and How to Befriend Them:_ _Don’t make eye contact._ No sudden movement. Always be ready with bits of food. Be wary of snarls but learn to read them. And above all, don’t panic. 

_Well, that last was a general everyday rule. Hmm, breakfast?_

Then the hunter came in and poured himself a chipped mug of coffee.

“Ya hungover? Your head hurt?” 

Harry said, “It doesn’t feel any different than usual?”

The hunter took a big swig, made a noise of utter disgust, and then spit it out in the sink.

“The hell’s this weakass shit?”

“Coffee?”

“Pfft! ’s like coffee died and left its ghost and that ghost pissed this out. Fuckin’ weak.” He dumped out his mug and scowled at it. “Ya gotta use more coffee. C’mere.”

Then he dumped out the pot and scowled at it going down the drain. (Both the Coriolis effect and Harry were immune to the hunter’s ferocious scowl.)

“That’s how Aunt Petunia makes it.” 

The hunter swung his head to look at Harrry and said, “Yeah well, that bitch is fuckin’ crazy.”

Harry snorted.

The hunter showed him how much coffee to dump in the filter basket. “’s how I like it.” Then he poured in the water. Harry nodded and went back to figuring out breakfast.

* * *

Daryl pulled out a second mug and asked, “How you take your coffee, Green Eyes?”

“I don't know. I’ve never had any.”

“Don’t like the smell?”

“Was never allowed any.”

Daryl added milk and sugar to the kid’s since they had it. “Here.”

The kid took the mug with a curious frown. “Thanks? What do you like for breakfast?”

“I eat cereal cuz it’s cheap and quick, but what I _like_ is biscuits.”

“For _breakfast?!”_

“This is the South. We eat ‘em for every meal, but I like startin’ the day with ‘em.”

“Okaaay, maybe I can make them tomorrow or the next day? Are waffles okay this morning?”

Daryl gave a grumpy disbelieving chuckle. He scoffed under his breath. “ _Waffles.”_ And then to the kid, he said, “Ain’t got no waffle iron, Fancy Pants.”

The kid pinked up a bit. “I nicked one from the cabin.”

 _Course ya did,_ “Ain’t never had a waffle.”

“Me neither. But I made them for the Dursleys.”

“Ain’t got no sorghum.”

At Green Eyes’ questioning eyebrow, Daryl said, “Syrup.”

“I’ve got Maple syrup?”

Daryl wrinkled his nose. “Ain’t never had that.”

“That makes two of us. Look, I’ve always wanted to try it, so I’m making it. You don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it.”

“Ain’t wastin’ food.”

The kid rolled his eyes and said, “Fine, feel free to _scowl_ at it as much as you like then.”

 _Guess the kid’s over the skittish wild animal phase. Firmly in sassy little shit territory._ Daryl scowled and leaned in and said, “Boo.”

Green Eyes barked out a laugh and Daryl gave him a grin. The kid was all right.

Then the kid got busy fuckin’ around with the waffle iron, flitting around the kitchen, pulling out this and that. Green Eyes could make a hummingbird look lazy. When he gave Daryl the first waffle, Daryl frowned and then cut it in half, glared at him, and then pointedly slid one half onto the kid’s plate. “Doctor it up and then on three.”

_Goddamn._

If Merle was here, he’d be goin’ on like an ass about them makin’ sex sounds. _“Didn’t know ya had it in ya, Daryleena.”_ But the waffles were goddamn _good._ Crisp on the outside, but melty inside and swimming in butter and that maple syrup wasn't sorghum, but it was pretty damned good. He thought he was going to have to try licking his arm down to his elbow.

They ate the whole batch. Daryl knew they both had that stupid sleepy happy look, he could feel it, but he didn’t care. He was busy licking his left palm and was working his way down toward his wrist, when he stopped mid-lick, and said, “What?”

The kid was _looking_ at him and fuck knows what was going to come out of that sassy mouth. But if the kid’d had a tail, he’d’ve been wagging it.

“I like waffles even _better_ than explosions!”

And Daryl huffed, but he was thinking, _Yeah, kinda surprised I didn't mess my pants._ But he said, “Yeah,” and why the fuck was his voice all gravely, “I reckon ain't nothin’ as good as these here waffles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d intended to cover more in this chapter, but I think Daryl needs a moment.
> 
> I need a waffle. Please send.


	9. A veritable country of fine cuisine, I tell you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl goes about his day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that I've lured you into watching the Harry and Daryl Cooking Channel…mwahahaha.
> 
> Yeah…so the next five days were already going to be dicey, but I just this minute found out I've been in contact with someone who has since tested positive for the virus, so I'm calling this chapter done enough. Hopefully I'll be able to post something over the weekend, but WHO KNOWS? Enjoy our boys.

Once they were finishing the last of the breakfast dishes, Daryl said, “Lemme see your back.”

The kid wriggled out of reach. “I’m sure it’s better.”

“I need to make sure it’s not getting infected.”

“It’s _fine.”_

Kid looked like he was eyeing the exits.

“Green Eyes, I ain’t gonna hurt ya. But if ya make me chase your ass all over creation, I ain’t gonna be gentle about draggin’ ya back inside.”

Kid looked torn up. He was fixing to bolt.

Daryl went for patient, but missed by a mile, “Whatever the fuck is going through that head of yours right now is bullshit. Lemme just take a look. Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

The kid bit his lip, but he turned around and stood still. Daryl had to lift up his shirt. He raised an eyebrow. The salve was good, but it weren’t _that_ good. Green Eyes was all tense. Looked like he was expecting to get hit or worse. 

“Now see, I done told ya that salve was good.” Daryl pulled his shirt back down. “It’s lookin’ a lot better. I’m still gonna wanna check on it, but ya should be right as rain soon enough.”

“Thanks,” the kid muttered.

“Reckon you oughta take a shower. I'll get ya a towel and a washrag. Soap and shampoo’s in the shower.” Then his mouth turned sour. Knowing those assholes, he’d better lay out everything real clear. “The hot water ain’t great, but you’re welcome to use it while we got it. Jus’ don’ go hoggin’ _all_ of it like Merle. So, keep it under 20 minutes. And if ya ain't sure about somethin’, _ask.”_

After he got the kid fixed up, Daryl went outside, just to get the hell out of the house. The damn snake was laying in his path because of course she was. She raised up, all prissy looking, and gave him the old staredown.

“The hell you lookin’ at?” Daryl said.

She moved her head like she was looking on past him.

“Yer boy’s in the shower. Already had his breakfast.”

She gave a wriggle and then slithered off for a sunnier spot.

Daryl snorted and headed to the shed, he had work to do.

* * *

Harry was in the empty kitchen, working on prepping _supper._

Out of thin air, the hunter said, “The fuck you peelin’ those potatoes for?”

Harry thanked his years in a castle full of actual ghosts that he didn't jump. He needed to put a bell on him. “I’m making mashed potatoes.”

“The hell?”

“I peel the potatoes to make mashed potatoes.” 

“Nah, I’ll show you how to make mashed potatoes. Sit yer ass down and watch. Ya live in them fancy suburbs or somethin’?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

The hunter darted a look out from under his hair. “You like it?”

“God no. It’s hell on earth. Judgmental harpies, the lot of them. And my Aunt and Uncle told everyone I was a criminal, so _everyone_ hated me.”

The hunter snorted. “Everyone hates the Dixon boys. ‘Course, we _are_ criminals.”

Harry looked at him skeptically. _"You’re_ a criminal.”

“My brother gets up to stupid shit all the time. Stealin’ and dealin’. In and outta jail.”

“So your brother’s a criminal.”

“I blew up that goddamn cabin!”

“I threw the first Molotov cocktail which I already _totally_ knew how to make and also threw the second.”

“Pfft.”

“I will _swear to my dying day.”_

The hunter huffed and pointed to the potatoes. “Don’t bother peelin’ potatoes. That’s the good part anyway, the peel. Nutrients ‘n shit. Just scrub ‘em real good cuz ain’t nobody likin’ to eat dirt.”

After Harry scrubbed the potatoes, he started opening up cabinets to look through.

“The fuck you lookin’ for now?”

“Cutting board.”

“The hell for?”

“A cutting board. To cut the potatoes on?”

The hunter huffed. “Shit.” Then he grabbed a potato and whipped out a knife. 

Harry watched dumbstruck while he diced up the potato in his _hand._ “That doesn’t seem very safe.”

The hunter scoffed. “Ya wear a goddamn venomous snake like a scarf.” He cut up a couple more potatoes and then said, “Miss Priss was out back lookin’ for ya.”

“Huh?”

“Yer snake. Gave me one of her shitty looks. Told her you'd had yer breakfast and was gettin’ cleaned up.”

Harry snorted. 

“Ya makin’ those steak things tonight?”

“Yes, is that okay?”

The hunter frowned. “It's food. I ain't complainin’.”

Harry didn't even try to cover his laugh. “Is that what you were doing last night? Not complaining?”

The hunter stuck his tongue out at him.

“I'm also making Brussels Sprouts with Bacon and Thyme.”

The hunter scrunched his face up.

“You don’t like them?”

“Ain’t never had ’em," he answered around his thumbnail. Then he looked up at Harry and then away. “Do you like that fancy shit?”

“Most of the time, I wasn’t allowed to eat what I cooked anyway. So I don’t really know if I like that fancy shite. I like not starving. Not starving’s my favorite.”

“Sassy ass.”

“It’s true.”

“Why the fuck was she fixated on Belgium anyway?”

“Huh?”

 _“Belgian_ endive, _Brussels_ sprouts.”

Harry laughed. I doubt it occurred to her. She saw them in magazines. She just wanted to impress the neighbors.”

“Whole goddamn country of _fine cuisine_ and does she pick the beer or the chocolate? Hell no, she goes for the weird ass _vegetables.”_

Harry laughed. “What was that you said this morning…that bitch is fuckin’ crazy.”


	10. Sleep? Schmeep.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl goes about his night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this case, Perrier rhymes with terrier but with a twang. Because that's how my kid used to say it, and it's just too adorable not to squirrel away in a story.

Daryl awoke to Green Eyes tossing and turning, but before he could even get out of bed, the kid was out of the room like a shot. Least he didn’t take off clean out of the house. Daryl knew he'd have to chase his scrawny ass down one of these days though. He found him heaving into the toilet. 

Kid finally groaned out a “Sorry.”

“Nah. None o’that. Know you can’t help it.” Daryl gave him an awkward ghost of a pat on the shoulder. “You got a bug? Or is it somethin’ ya ate?”

Kid shook his head, all miserable. “The nightmares. Sometimes…”

_Well, fuck._

Daryl stood there useless for a good while before he finally thought to say, “When I was real little, my mama, she used to give me 7-Up when I was sick. To settle my stomach.”

The kid crossed his arms over the toilet seat and let his head flop onto them. Thank goodness the kid had cleaned the nasty thing on his little cleaning spree earlier. Daryl had had to look twice to be certain he hadn't swapped in a new toilet.

Daryl nudged the kid's calf with his toe. “Ya got anything clear and fizzy to drink?”

Kid looked like he wasn’t thinking straight yet. 

“That Perrier ya stuck in the fridge, that fizzy?" Daryl asked.

“Yeah— _urgh—_ yes, I think so.”

"A'ight, once ya think you're done, come on out to the couch." Then he ducked out the door to go fetch the kid a drink. He turned the television on low on his way past. There was something about the unearthly glow and the flow of the sound in the early hours. Daryl twisted the cap off the green bottle and poured some in a glass. He gave it a sniff, but all he noticed was the bubbles tickling at his nose. He squinted at the bottle, then took a swig. "Yycchh!" He glared at the bottle. "People pay money for this shit?!"

"Apparently," the kid said from the couch.

"Damn dog ears," Daryl muttered under his breath.

"You're one to talk, Cat Feet."

"Here, found ya some soda crackers," Daryl said and thrust out a sleeve. "And here's yer fancy water."

He wasn’t even gonna ask where those red pillows on the couch came from. It was too early for that shit. He could deal with that oh, _never_. 

“G’on. Get yerself situated with the pillows. I’ll fetch a blanket.” 

Once the kid was all tucked in on the couch, Daryl asked, “Uh, ya want me to stay until ya fall asleep or somethin’?”

”Yes, please.”

Daryl settled in next to the kid. "A’ight. G’on and sleep. Ain't nothin’ gettin’ through me.”

About a quarter till four, Daryl covered the kid up with a second blanket, shut off the television and went to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please continue to distract me from "omg what if I've caught the virus" with your lovely much appreciated comments. They do so warm my little quarantined heart. And encourage the muse. <3


	11. Biscuit Bullshit: Round the First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FutureDaryl will say, “It was nice. Green Eyes kept quiet, but he was funny sometimes. He took on the household chores without being asked. And he took to making biscuits and venison gravy like a champ. Well, after the (requisite) rounds of bullshit that is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the "humor cliffhanger resolution: part the first" doesn't disappoint.

Daryl rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “The fuck ya makin’ cookies for breakfast for?”

“What? You said you wanted biscuits. These are biscuits.”

“Them’s _cookies.”_ Then he snatched one off the cookie sheet and stuffed it in his mouth. Fucker was _hot._

The kid rolled his eyes, then got out a new bowl and started measuring flour grumbling, “Fine, I’ll make actual breakfast.” 

"What kinda cookie is this anyway?" Daryl asked around the second cookie he'd crammed in his mouth. "Spice?"

"It's a Cornish Fairing _biscuit."_

At Daryl's "well, what the fuck is _that"_ look, the kid said, "Ginger."

Daryl gave a grunt of acknowledgement and grabbed three more cookies and took his coffee and went back to his room.

* * *

Just after the kid pulled the cookie sheet out of the oven, Daryl appeared over his shoulder, impatient for second breakfast.

“The fuck did ya do to those biscuits?”

The kid frowned at the cookie sheet and then frowned at Daryl. “They’re not biscuits, they’re _scones.”_

“That some fucked up England thing?”

“They’re a fundamental part of our culture, yes.”

“They don’t look right.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, just try one! It’s a perfect scone.”

Daryl gave it a sniff which he immediately scowled after. Then took a bite. Fucker was _hot._

“That ain’t no biscuit.”

“It’s a scone!” The kid threw his hands up in the air. “Whatever.” He got out the butter and jam and poured himself a cup of—

“The hell’s that?”

“It’s English Breakfast. Tea.” SassyAss put butter and strawberry jam on his _scone_ and stared at Daryl while he ate it. “You’re an idiot. And you’re going to be a hungry idiot if you’re afraid of a simple baked good.”

Daryl growled and groused, but he poured himself another mug of coffee and put a couple of scones on a plate. And glared at them. But he ate them and licked the jam off his fingers and then swept up the crumbs with his still wet fingers and sucked them clean.

The little shit looked mighty pleased with hisself.

Daryl narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m gonna show ya how to make real biscuits.”

“Bring it on,” the kid said all big man with his arms crossed, for all of fifteen seconds before he made a face and said, “but you know, _tomorrow._ I’m sick of baking this morning."

"I ain't taking you back out in the woods until I get you some proper boots. Gettin’ here was different, we didn't have no choice."

"Okay?"

"Bet you're probably sick of being inside, but I don’t wanna take you into town, in case anyone’s lookin’ for ya.” Daryl scooped a fingerful of crumbs up off the kid’s plate and ate them. “When you're done, come on out and play with yer snake or somethin'. She's been sulkin' every time I go outside and you're not with me."

"Aww."

Daryl grimaced. "I just don't want her getting any _ideas_ about comin' in the house." Then he got his _business_ _look._ "Now listen here, you stay out of the shed. You even think about going near that shed and I'm gonna beat your ass."

Well, they both knew that was a big fat lie.

"Right," the kid said, "Got it. The shed is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

"The hell ya going on about?"

The kid looked a little called out. "Oh, just something the headmaster used to say at school."

"The hell kinda school has shit that'll kill ya?"

"Er," the kid mussed his already messy-as-fuck hair, "Yeah, it wasn't a very safe place. At all." 

Daryl snorted. "No wonder, ya let that damn snake hang around yer neck. Ain't got no sense and they wasn't teachin' any at school, sounds like." 

* * *

Daryl came inside for some water, but he stopped when he saw the kid sitting on the couch looking all innocent. Which sure as shit meant he was up to something. But the kid beat him to it.

“What has got you all—” the kid waved his hand around toward Daryl “—whatever that is?”

Daryl glared. “I ain't nothin’.”

“There. That frumpy face! You've been making it all day.”

Daryl glared harder.

“Are you still hungry? Do you want a third breakfast? Second lunch?”

SassyAss was looking all concerned. If Daryl didn't fess up quick, he was going to be up and in the kitchen, cooking God knows what. So he said, “Weirdo’s comin’ tomorrow.”

“Who?”

Daryl had to pick his words, well, _more_ than usual. “This guy. He's real weird. He, uh, buys…things from me. I can't figure out his angle, but he pays good. So I don't mind it. But he wants it all hush-hush, ‘s why I’m being all vague.”

“Vaguer than usual.”

Daryl growled.

The kid said, “Sorry! Sorry,” in a tone that said he was definitely _not_ sorry.

“It just pisses me off because I can't figure out his angle, but the money is too good to pass up, but it don't make no damn sense.”

The little shit nodded, but it was a sassy nod.

“And he dresses weird, like I mean old-timey. And when we was first settin’ up the deal, he asked, Daryl mocked the guy’s voice, “What _currency_ do you want paid in?” He scoffed. “And I asked if he was some damn foreigner or somethin’. I said, ‘Cash. American bills. If ya show up with a bag o’them damn dollar coins, I’m gonna beat ya with ‘em.’”

The kid pulled out a thing of cookies from God knows where, probably hides ‘em behind those damn red pillows. He handed Daryl a cookie and said, “Go on.”

Daryl would've thrown the cookie at his head, but _cookie._

“Got a weird feeling about him,” Daryl said around the cookie. “Not bad, just _weird._ Everyone is always complainin’ there ain’t no…buyers in Georgia, but he said to keep my mouth shut, so I do. Don’t know why he’ll only buy from me, but fuck if I’m going to complain or run my mouth and ruin a good thing.”

“Okaaay.”

“Just keep yer ass inside tomorrow. He don't need to know you're here.” Then he swiped the thing of cookies and stomped outside.


	12. Biscuit Bullshit: Round the Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Daryl teaches Harry how to make _biscuit_ biscuits.

Daryl woke the kid up _nicer_ this morning, which meant just yelling at him. The kid flinched, but didn’t curl up into a ball protecting his head. Progress. 

"C'mon," Daryl said. "I'll show ya how to make real biscuits this morning."

Daryl was staring at the open can of coffee. Kid had had nightmares every damn night.

He grumbled, "If I don't start getting some sleep, I'm gonna be one cranky bitch."

He heard Merle's voice in his head say, "Crankier."

Daryl said, "Asshole," and flipped off thin air.

The coffee was already done brewing by the time Green Eyes wandered in, yawning.

The kid looked around the kitchen. "All right. Where's the recipe?"

Daryl snorted. _Recipe._ "Ain't no recipe. It's biscuits. Ya just make 'em."

Kid wrinkled his face up like a disgruntled kitten. Daryl almost laughed.

“Now’s best with lard and buttermilk, but ain’t got none, so we’ll make do," Daryl gestured to the butter and milk laid out in front of them.

“Gotta be _self-rising_ flour. Don't know what the fuck kind you use in England, but I'm sure it's the wrong kind."

"Ya cut yer fat into the flour, like this. Don’t go usin’ yer hands just yet cuz then you’ll go meltin’ the fat. That and overworkin' it makes for a shitty biscuit.”

“Make a well, see?”

“A’ight, when it looks like this, ya roll it, but real gentle like, here like this.“ He put his hands over Green Eyes’. “Just like my Granny taught me. When I was tiny. About yer size.”

The kid elbowed him. 

“Course I was probably four.”

The kid kicked him. 

Daryl threw him over his shoulder. “Gonna be hard to cut ‘em out from way up there.”

Kid was laughing. “Stop tickling me!” And kicking. Or at least trying to. Daryl had a good hold of his legs. “I'm only ever going to make scones if you don't put me down!” And pounding on Daryl's back.

Daryl burrowed his knuckles in the kid's side real good, then set him down upright, and mussed his hair up something fierce. Well, fiercer. Green Eyes had one unruly mop.

“Shit. That ain't no real threat. Now only bitter moldy leaves? That might make a fellow think twice.”

Daryl pulled the kid back in front of the biscuit dough. “Now, cut ‘em out. Nah, don't twist. Straight down. There ya go.”

“Now lay ‘em out on the pan, so far apart.”

Then they put them in the oven. And waited. 

“See that? Means they're done.”

They ate the biscuits and it was _glorious._

* * *

Daryl heard the rumble of the old clunker on the gravel. He came out of the shed and crossed his arms and scowled, waiting. He hated it when he couldn't figure a situation out. And he had a damned feeling Green Eyes wasn't gonna stay put.

Weirdo got out of the old Chevy and gave him that awkward wave he always did that looked like he had no idea how to greet a person. Daryl nodded. Weirdo put his thumbs in his suspenders and looked around and around like he hadn't ever seen a house and shed and trees before. Then he kind of _twitched_ and got all skittish looking.

“Who’s here?” he asked.

Daryl looked at the house expecting to see the kid’s face peeking out the window, but he wasn't there. Daryl looked back at Weirdo. “The hell ya goin’ on about?”

“There's someone else here.”

“Ya been creepin’ around, watchin’ my damn house, man?” Daryl said in his “Am I gonna have to beat your ass?” voice.

Weirdo was making for the car.

 _Goddamn it._ Daryl couldn't lose the sale. Who the fuck was going to buy all them furs if this asshole didn't? No one. That's who.

“It’s just kin. Lives with me now. Ain’t told him shit. Just said someone was comin’ by and to stay in the house.”

“Bring him out.”

“Look. He can’t talk. I don’t want no goddamn CPS pokin’ around. So not one word to no one or you'll see just how good I am with my skinnin’ knife.”

Now that really made him twitch. _Good_. _It should._

“Fine. Fine. Not one word. But I need to meet him before I buy anything.”

Daryl glowered, but the fucker didn’t budge. _Damnit._ He needed the money to keep the electric on. “Fine. But I got a mind to charge ya extra for bein’ an even bigger pain in my ass.” 

Daryl went inside. “C’mon, kid. Weirdo insists on meeting ya. Do _not_ say a word and look…I don’t know…”

“Rednecky?” the kid asked.

“Thought ya didn't know what that word meant.”

“I don't. It's just,” he waved his hand, “context clues.”

“Just keep your sassy mouth shut.”

Green Eyes zipped his lips and then grabbed a sockhat out of his bag and stuffed it on his head and pulled it down pert near over his eyes. Then he followed Daryl outside. 

* * *

The hunter said, “Weirdo, this here’s my kin. Kin, this here’s Weirdo.“ 

Weirdo was looking, staring really, at Harry, like he was trying to figure something out. Harry was really hoping he wasn't trying to figure out if there was a lightning bolt scar on his forehead. He looked like he wasn't sure how to ask something. He kept hemming and hawing which was driving the hunter and apparently Sassafras nuts because she popped up out of Harry’s shirt and hissed, _“Who’s this? A magic user?”_

Weirdo _choked._

Which Harry thought was overkill until he looked down and realized she was sporting her horns and jewel. 

_Thank Merlin the hunter can't see her from where he’s standing._

“You’ve got a…” Weirdo stammered, “You’ve got a…” 

“She’s his pet,” the hunter cut in. 

“You’ve got a…you’ve got a…”—he gulped—”…as a… _pet."_

“Lookey here, Weirdo, ya need to shit or get off the pot. Either you're buying these furs or ya ain’t.”

“Yeah, yeah, I reckon I’m buying ‘em,” he didn't take his eyes off Sassafras. “Just don’t let the kid help or touch them. And it’s okay if you tell this kid, but no one else.”

Sassafras hissed, _"Close your eyes, hatchling.”_

Harry groaned, but he did as he was told. Sassafras was so _bossy._ Then Sassafras must have done _something_ because Weirdo choked again and then in a different—almost a dreamy monotone—tone of voice said, “You're right, Dixon. I will pay you extra for being a pain in your ass and I will not ever tell anyone about the boy and his—” weirdo gave a long pause before continuing “—amazing and beautiful snake who is perfect in every way.”

The hunter helped Weirdo load up the furs. Harry mostly stayed out of the way and gave Sassafras stern looks.

She hissed, _“He cannot tell anyone of your existence and he was already willing to pay your hunter more.”_

After the car drove away, the hunter didn't say a word, he just glared Harry into the house.

Harry announced, "For the record, I would like it noted that I stayed in the house. And kept my mouth shut. And none of whatever that was is my fault."

Sassafras _laughed_ at him. Which he didn't realize was a thing snakes could do.


	13. Nightmares and Target Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Daryl Dixon needs a nap and if he doesn't watch it, he may wind up with a snake in his boot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helllllllloooooo, I hope you all are doing okay out there. <3

That night when the kid started screaming the house down, Daryl had had enough. 

“Get yer skinny ass up here.”

“Huh?”

“S’os I can start wakin’ ya up before they get so bad. Never gonna get any goddamn sleep otherwise.” 

Daryl flipped his pillow over and squished the ends together and then hit it with his fist. Then he flopped back down facing the wall. “Fucking hell. I’d expect not to get no sleep if I stole a goddamn toddler.”

The kid hadn't moved.

Daryl looked back over his shoulder and said, “Crawl up here. I’ll wake you up before you start slippin’ into a nightmare again.”

Finally, the kid crawled in, taking up the least amount of room possible. 

“C’mon settle in. There’s room.” 

Kid wriggled over _maybe_ half an inch.

“’s what Merle used to do on the really bad nights. After Mama…" Daryl cleared his throat. "Lemme sleep with him. Course he fuckin’ bitched about it goddamn incessantly.”

“Thanks.”

Daryl rolled to his back. “You’ll think thanks when I launch yer ass onto the floor in the morning.”

“Only if you braid my hair first,” the kid sassed.

Daryl huffed.

The kid said, "I'm sorry."

"Ain't yer fault. Know ya can't help it."

They laid there. Both wide awake.

Finally Daryl asked, “Yer uncle?”

Green Eyes snorted. “Nah. He’s not the worst of my problems.”

_"Jesus.”_

“No, oddly enough, Jesus hasn’t given me any problems whatsoever.”

* * *

Daryl laid there mentally naming alphabetically all the local plants he could think of, to drown out the sound of Merle’s voice in his head. 

* * *

Daryl woke with an elbow _and_ knee in his ribs and much too close to a mop of hair that looked like it was fixing to attack him. He opened his mouth, but then decided he was too close to shout, the kid might clock him. He should really just launch the kid onto the floor and be done with it. 

"C'mon, Green Eyes, get yer ass up! The moldy leaves are fixin' to revolt."

That didn't make no sense, but it got the kid moving. Of course, the strategically placed fingers in the kid's ribs might have helped.

* * *

“After breakfast, the hunter said, "If you're gonna learn to hunt, we need to pick ya a weapon.” The hunter lifted his hand up, but waited and said, “Make a muscle.”

“Huh?”

The hunter scoffed and muttered, “Jesus Christ” and flexed his biceps in front of Harry's face. “Feel that.”

Harry gave it a tentative poke.

“G’on.”

Harry wrapped his hands around it. His eyebrows were way up in his fringe somewhere. It was like a really warm rock, but probably harder. _Merlin’s beard!_

The hunter made one of his faces. “G’on now, make yers.”

Harry flexed his arm.

The hunter squeezed it.

“Ow!”

”Ya sure as shit won't be luggin’ my crossbow around yet. I'll teach ya on that compound bow. But that's for later. Figured I could teach ya about guns first. Start ya off with a .22 bolt action. Do some target practice. See what kinda eye ya got.”

* * *

Target practice went like this:

“Jesus Fucking Christ. You're a horrible shot.”

“Next time I’m drunk off my ass and seein’ double, I bet I at least make it on the target.”

“Come on, yer pissin’ me off. Let’s go back to the house.”

The kid wouldn't look at him. He'd just picked up his snake and _boy,_ was she staring daggers at Daryl.

Daryl tried to sound like less of an asshole. “‘sides, looks like some kinda storm’s blowin’ in. Damnedest thing. Didn't look at all like rain earlier.”

The snake hissed at him, then ducked into the kid's shirt lickety split, but she left her tail hanging out, pointing up. Daryl had the distinct feeling she was flipping him off.

* * *

It was storming so bad, they unplugged the old tv so the lightning couldn't fry it. They had some time to kill.

Daryl fiddled with the knob on the old washstand. He knew he was pussyfooting. He'd been an asshole earlier, but he doubted this was the best way to make it up.

To say that reading had never been well received in the Dixon household was the understatement of the goddamn century. And he was already defensive and skittish as fuck. He knew that. He already had two failed literary references. Maybe third time’s the charm.

At least the kid would have something to pretend to look at, instead of glaring at his hands or silently conspiring with that snake of his. He didn't know where she'd got off to, but he'd just bet she'd got in the damn house.

Daryl opened the small door and pulled some books out from behind the winter hats, ski masks, and gloves.

Daryl stood there, awkward as all hell. He finally said, “Couldn’t have books when my daddy was alive. He’d bloody my nose with ‘em and then burn ‘em. Then beat me for gettin’ detention and a bill for not returnin’ the library book.”

The kid looked up from glaring at his thumbs and said, “That’s some fucked up shite.” 

“That ain’t the half of it. Ya like to read?”

“Gives me a headache.”

Daryl squinted at him for a good long while. “When’s the last ya got yer eyes checked?”

“What do you mean?”

Daryl gave him a LOOK. “You fucking with me?” 

“Maybe it’s a language thing?” the kid offered.

Daryl made a grumpy face. “When’d ya go to the eye doctor…”—he slashed his hand down—“the _optometrist_ last?”

“I’ve never been.” 

“Is this one of them England things? Where’d you get yer goddamn glasses? The dentist?”

“My aunt nicked them out of a charity bin after my teacher sent a note home that I needed glasses because I couldn’t see the blackboard.”

Daryl was confused. “How’d she know which ones to get?”

“She didn’t. She just grabbed a pair.”

“That is fucked up shit. I know I got my own fucked up redneck shit, but that shit is fucked up shit.” Daryl squatted down and started putting the books back. He looked back over his shoulder and said, “I thought you had free healthcare and shit over there.”

“Oh, we do. It doesn't matter. They just really, really hate me.”

Daryl sat down next to the kid and nudged his foot wth his. He peeked out from under his hair and said, “Hope that explains your shitty aim.”

The kid crossed his arms with a huff. “Which you were an utter arsehole about.”

“Yeah, I was. Why didn’t ya say somethin’? About yer glasses?”

The kid shrugged. “I’ve had these since I was 5. How would I know any different?” Then he asked, “Do glasses make that much of a difference?”

“Fuck yeah they do. I’ll take ya tomorrow.”

Daryl pulled out some cord he used to practice knots, just something to do with his hands, so he could think things over for a while. When he had it laid out straight in his mind, he said, “Now I know I told ya ya can’t be talkin’ ‘round people. That accent’ll tip ‘em off surer than shit. And we’s gonna be around people to get yer new glasses.” Daryl scowled.

“Okay?” the kid finally said.

“I’m gonna teach ya the sign language alphabet. It’ll be slow as shit, but you can answer questions tomorrow without makin’ a peep.”

“Cool! You know it?”

“Well, it’s _American_ Sign Language. I don’t know whatcha all use over there. Taught m’self outta a book when I was, hell, seven er somethin’. During library time. Learned it cuz I thought maybe Merle and I could have a secret language, like talk in code.”

“Did Merle learn it?”

“Nah. He smacked me upside the head and told me not to be stupid. Though we got whistles we communicate with in the woods and he taught me military hand signals when we was older.”

“So you two do have a secret language. He just wanted to be the one to teach it?”

“Eh,” Daryl shrugged. “He’s an asshole.”

“So you've said.”

“Yeah, but when you meet him I can just hear you saying, Daryl tried to mimic Green Eyes’ accent, “Now I know that you said your elder brother was an arsehole, but I was not prepared. He’s like, king of the arseholes.”

The kid whacked him. “I don't sound like that!”

Daryl laughed. It was so easy pushing Green Eyes’ buttons. “I'm gonna take ya a couple o’counties over, just to be safe.”

“Sounds good."

“I’m gonna have to give ‘em a name for ya at the eye doctors.” Daryl held up his hand. “Sure as shit ain't usin’ your real name. Figured you can use Dixon as yer last name for shit like this.”

“My name’s Harry.”

“Mine's Daryl.” He rubbed his chin. “Harry. Hmmm. That's an old nickname for Henry. Could use that.  _ Henry Dixon.  _ Shouldn't alert no one.”

Daryl focused on untying the knots, gnawing on his lip to keep from cracking a smile. Green Eyes'll probably be madder than a wet hen come tomorrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did teach myself the ASL (American Sign Language) alphabet in elementary school with a library book ("Handtalk") But it wasn't until I took ASL in college that I actually learned about it. I figured Daryl wouldn't know that ASL is most closely related to French Sign Language (LSF). ASL is quite different from British Sign Language (BSL). 
> 
> Oh wouldn't it get Merle's goat if his baby brother had a (obviously not actually) secret language with little Harry. Ha, I already can guess what Merle's name sign would be.


	14. Life Advice From Daryl (formerly Heading to Town)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and Harry take a slight detour on the way to the eye doctor. Daryl Dixon could use a calming draught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took a few days. All kinds of things going on, a few parts needed to set, and I swear minor copy edits on AO3 take an entire freaking day.
> 
> They got the (formerly Dudley's) iPhone set up offscreen. I keep tech support over in James Bond where it belongs.
> 
> I formatted the phone conversation in italics. But note that Daryl also says various asides to Harry which are not italicized, but you can assume that Hermione overhears them. Yes, it's meant to be chaotic. No way is that a neat and orderly conversation.

“Been thinkin’,” Daryl said over breakfast, “Wouldn't hurt to be able to do more than spell.”

Harry had a mouth full of cheesy scrambled eggs, so he just raised his eyebrows in question. 

“Wonderin’ if I should run in the library. See if they got any sign language books.”

At the mention of ‘library’, Harry thought _Hermione._

Daryl furrowed his brows and asked, “What?”

“Hmm?”

“What was that look all about? You got all soppy lookin’. All wistful and shit.”

“Oh, my friend, Hermione. She would _live_ in the library, if they'd let her. I just…miss her.”

“She yer girlfriend?”

“No, I— _ew,_ she's like the very brilliant bossy mildly older badass _sister_ I never knew I needed.”

_Merlin, he missed Hermione._

Daryl snorted. "She’s a…how old are ya anyway?" 

“Fifteen, sixteen at the end of July.”

“She's a sixteen year old who’s smart and wants to live in the _library,_ how badass can she be? She gonna hit me with a _dictionary?”_

“We go to this…boarding school that starts at age 11. So, imagine the teacher’s pet, rule-loving smartest kid in the entire grade, setting fire to the cloak of the meanest most feared professor while he was wearing it.”

“It a bet or somethin’?”

“No, uh—ah, we…thought he was trying to kill me.”

“What?!”

“Funny story,” Harry said bleakly. “It turned out it was a different professor who was trying to kill me.”

“Did they lock him up?”

“He—ah, um, he well…died. But anyway, Hermione’s great. She's going to _flip_ when she finds out…oh. Oh no.”

“Finds out what?”

“Well, when she can't get a hold of me, eventually she is going to start raising hell. And…shite. I have to figure out a way to let her know…”

“To not send the dogs after you?”

“Yeah. If she doesn’t raise the alarm, no one should notice I’m gone until…probably the start of school?

“Ya know her phone number? Can't ya just call her?”

“Um, yeah. She made me memorize her number. I need to think though…”

“Guess it's a good thing we got a long drive then.”

They finished up breakfast. 

Daryl asked, “You got some money? Ain't got no idea how much glasses’ll be, but I reckon you've got more than enough for probably the whole damn store.”

“Money? Check.”

“Got yer sockhat? That was a good idea, keeping—well, it's a distinguishing mark ain't it—”

Harry snorted. _Quite._

“Anyways, keepin’ it covered when Weirdo was nosin’ around was a good idea.”

* * *

Harry looked out the window of Daryl's old gray-blue Ford F-250. Not that he’d ever traveled, aside from going to Hogwarts, but it was so different from back home. He loved the mountains. And the woods was great. Or at least a lot less creepy deadly than The Forbidden Forest.

“What city are we going to?” Harry asked.

Daryl snorted. “We’re goin’ to _town._ Athens and Chattanooga are cities, but there's no need to go that far.”

“Atlanta?”

“Atlanta’s a goddamn nightmare.”

Harry closed his eyes for a while. When he opened them, they were in a town, the street was lined with restaurants. 

“Can we,” Harry started to ask.

Daryl finally said, “Ya want somethin’, speak up.”

Harry fidgeted with his bag.

Daryl kept looking at the road. “I know those assholes messed ya up, but ya gotta work at it. I ain’t gonna beat ya for askin’ a question. Can we _what?”_

“McDonalds? I have gift cards.”

“Shit yeah if you’re buyin’.” Daryl pulled into the parking lot.

“Let’s go inside. Free refills. Ya know what ya want?”

“I’ve never been.” 

Daryl put it in park and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “This a fucked up England thing and ya don’t got no McDonalds over there?”

Harry snorted. “Oh no, Dudley would get it all the time. He’d make a big deal out of it and come crinkle the wrappers outside of my cupboard.” 

“The fuck’s your cupboard?”

“It’s where I slept until I was 11, in that little space under the stairs.” 

“A closet?!”

“Yeah. Once they must have forgot to lock the door and I snuck out and licked the wrappers in the bin.” 

Daryl went very still and just sat there. Finally he said, “Ain't never killed no one. Right now? Reckon I could.”

* * *

The lady at the counter said, “Welcome to McDonalds. May I take your order?”

Daryl said, “Uh, Quarter Pounder with cheese meal.” Then he looked down at Harry and frowned, “And…a cheeseburger Happy Meal.”

Harry frowned up at him. 

They got their food and drinks, and sat down, Daryl wouldn’t look at him, but said, “Figured ya prob’ly wanted the toy as much as the food sometimes.”

Daryl snuck a glance. Green Eyes was grinning down at the brightly colored box. Kid seemed happy as a lark. Kid gave the fries some odd looks, but he ate them all right.

“Didja get enough to eat, Henry?”

Kid rolled his eyes, but gave him a thumbs up and mimed he was finished. 

“Didn't know what ya wanted, but figured a cheeseburger was a good start. Ya got more o’them card things?” At Harry’s nod, Daryl said, “You can try whatever you want next time.”

Harry smiled. Daryl shrugged and ate the rest of the kid's burger.

"All right, kid, let's get to gettin'."

* * *

They pulled up to the eye place. Harry unbuckled his seat belt, Daryl said, “Hang on a sec. Leave yer glasses in yer bag cuz I'm gonna say ya lost’em. I think ya oughta let me hold yer money cuz they'll think it's weird that a kid’s payin’ instead of the adult.”

Harry laughed, and under his breath, said, _"Adult.”_

“Just remember, ya sassy little shit, let me do all the talkin’.”

They went inside and Daryl told the woman, “He don’t know his prescription and he lost his glasses in the river.”

She smiled at Harry, but before she could get a word out, Daryl said, “He don’t talk.”

“How will …”

“I’ll tell ya what he’s sayin’, don’t worry, just get him fixed up.”

“Why don't you have a seat…” the woman trailed off expectantly.

Daryl said, “Henry.”

“Be a dear and have a seat, Henry, while we get the paperwork sorted out.”

Then in a tone befitting Professor McGonagall, she turned on Daryl and said, “How do I know you won’t just give me the correct answer?”

“Fucksake, lady. This ain’t Geometry. We came here to get him glasses. If he cheats on the eye test how the hell’s he gonna see?!”

She pursed her lips and Daryl glared right back. Harry couldn't quite stifle a laugh. These Muggles had nothing on Snape and McGonagall. 

Daryl pointed and said, “That's enough outta you, Hen.”

Harry's mouth dropped open. _Hen?!_

* * *

When the kid finally put his new glasses on, his eyes got real big. 

The kid kept looking at him and once they were outside, Daryl said, _“What?!”_

The kid looked up at him and said, “You’re not just a blob anymore.”

Daryl frowned. 

“Wow you really do scowl a lot. I mean, I could feel it, but…wow.”

“How does being able to see better make you even mouthier?”

The kid just laughed.

Daryl made a show of looking him over and teased, “Unbreakable lenses _and_ Titanium frames?"

“Hey. I don't go looking for trouble. Trouble usually finds me."

Daryl laughed. _Trouble? This kid had no idea._

* * *

They were back at the McDonalds where they had eaten lunch, parked close to the door.

Green Eyes pulled out his iPhone. “The lady said if we make it a FaceTime audio call over wifi, it'll be free.”

“Sure as shit hope so.”

The kid fiddled with the strap on his bag. “You’re going to talk to her and tell her exactly what I say.”

Daryl squinted at him. “The fuck for?”

“So _technically_ she hasn’t talked to me. Just trust me.” 

Daryl was scrunching up his face, fixing to _Aw hell no,_ but the damn kid cut in, “I'll make a batch of those oatmeal _cookies_ with the dried cranberries you like so much.”

Daryl crossed his arms and glared something fierce. _Can't make me._

“Please?” Big green eyes all lookin’ up at him.

_Goddamnit._

Daryl grumbled, “Double batch and use twice as many chocolate chips. _And_ waffles. And I'm gonna bitch about it.”

“Well, that's a given.”

“Fuck off, Hen.”

“Fuck off, Dare.”

Daryl looked away, bit his lip. “My mama used to call me that.”

 _“Oh._ Should I not?”

“Nah, ‘s all right, I guess.” Then he got that little devilish grin and said, _“Henny._ Now call yer girl.”

It only took them five tries to get it to go through. It rang three times.

 _“Hello?”_ a young woman's voice answered.

Daryl glared at Harry and asked, _“This Hermione Granger?”_

_“Speaking.”_

_“Look. I’m callin’ for yer friend. I need ya to listen cuz he says it's important. First off, he don’t want ya sayin’ his name. ‘s important’ ya don’ say it. Got that?”_

_"Who’s this friend?”_

Daryl looked the kid over, saying, _“Messy black hair. Green Eyes. Small. Looks like he’s about 12.”_

Harry hit him. 

Daryl grunted, but it didn't hurt. “It’s true.” Then into the phone, he said, _“He said to tell ya remember when that big mean guy chased ya in the girl’s’ restroom and he stuck…a stick up his nose?”_

Then as an aside to the kid, “Ya foolin’? A stick? Really? Where the fuck did ya get a stick?”

Then he was back. _“And ya lied to a teacher. Excuse me, a **Professor.** And he said that bag o’yours came in real handy.”_

 _“Let me speak to him,”_ she said.

“I don’t see why ya can’t just talk to her.”

Harry shooed him back to the phone.

_“He’s worried. Look. He’s sayin’ don't send him letters or no birthday present. He says not to go callin’ those assholes—”_

The kid elbowed him.

“What? Goddamn motherfuckers more like. Callin’ ‘em assholes _is_ bein’ polite!”

_“Look, don’t go callin’ those pieces of shit that had custody of him. Or pokin’ your nose in. My words not his. Don’t be tryin’ to contact him or go asking if anyone else has heard from him. He ain’t with them no more. Ain’t gonna ever go back there. So don’t go fuckin’ it up. Don’t need no one to come lookin’ for him.”_

_“How do I know he’s really safe? How do I know you won’t hurt him?”_

_“He says he solemnly swears he ain’t up—”_ he put the phone against his chest and said to Harry, “That's what I said! Fer fuck’s sake, you just fuckin’ talk to her—” Then he spoke into the phone again, repeating what the kid had just hissed at him. _“He solemnly swears he is up to no good.”_

_“Why can’t I speak with him?”_

_“That's the million dollar question. Hang on.”_

_“Says he wants ya to be able to answer_ **_truthfully_ ** _when someone asks if you’ve spoken to him or if ya know where he is.”_

“She that shit a liar or something?” Daryl asked Harry. 

_“Oh! He’s worried about someone asking me about him and me being unable to lie,”_ she said more to herself than Daryl.

“What she gotta pass a polygraph or some shit? You two like to play James Bond or somethin’?”

She snorted. _“So, if I can guarantee the safety of all information pertaining to his whereabouts, I will be able to talk to him at some point.”_

_“Yes. Now he wants to know how you’re doing. Ya got hurt or somethin’?”_

_“It’s the…doctors have done all they can do. It’s…I’m okay.”_

_“They can’t fix it?”_

_“They did a few things that helped. I’m okay.”_

_“Kid’s makin’ that face,”_ Daryl said. _“Can’t ya get a second opinion or somethin’? Y’all got that healthcare ain’t ya? ‘sides, yer parents must be loaded. Kid said they’re both dentists.”_

_“I went to the…doctors at the…hospital in London.”_

_“Fer fucks sake ain’t France just right there? Germany? Or Monaco or some shit? Those fuckers are long lived.”_

Harry tugged on his forearm.

 _“Hang on, kid's yappin’.”_ Then Daryl said, _“Kid says Viktor._ Floor? The fuck kinda name is Floor? _Oh, he says the French chick. Flower. He says she owes him cuz he saved her little sister’s life.”_

“The fuck happened to her? Almost drowned? Ya done told me ya can’t swim, ya dumbass! The fuck was you doin’? Trying to kill yerself?”

 _“Indubitably,”_ Hermione muttered.

_“He says ‘and Viktor wanted ya to come visit anyway,’ but that dickweed Ron guilt tripped you into not going.”_

Hermione said angrily, _“You don’t even know Ron!”_

_“He won’t ask ya out, but he wants ya to be alone. Kid said he threw a fit when he found out Viktor took ya to that prom. If he ain't got the balls to ask ya, he should keep his damn mouth shut.”_

She huffed.

_“Don’t go fuckin’ up yer health over some stupid boy. Kid says yer his sister. Ya get yer ass over to that Viktor or that French chick and make them find ya a doctor that knows their ass from a hole in the ground. Ya know they don’t all go to the same school. They specialize in different things.”_

_“Oh my god! You’re brilliant! Viktor! Durm—he might actually know someone!”_

_“Now remember. You can't go tellin’ anyone ya know where the kid is. And ya better practice your surprised face in case ya hear he's missin’ later.”_

_“My…my friend, he’s okay?”_

_“He’s gonna be fine. And if anyone tries to make it otherwise, I’m gonna punch their goddamn lights out. Been feedin’ him up. Don't worry. That kid’s tucked away real safe like. Took him to get glasses today.”_

_“What? Why?”_

Oh, Daryl was pissed off. _“Didja know that kid ain't never had one goddamn eye exam in his life?! Last night he said readin’ gave him a headache. And it all came out. I marched his ass straight to the eye doctors this mornin’.”_

_“But his glasses?”_

_“That bitch he lived with stole ‘em outta a charity bin when the teacher said he needed to get his eyes tested.”_

A wordless sound of rage came through the phone. Daryl just nodded. _Exactly._

The kid punched his arm. 

Daryl looked down at him. “You're the one who insisted I talk, well, I’m talkin’, kid.”

Then into the phone he said, _“Don’t call us. We’ll call you.”_

_“That’s what the kidnappers usually say.”_

_“Nah. We got shitty reception. Hafta leave our undersea lair and get up to the surface to get a signal.”_

She laughed. _“You have my cell number. Call anytime. Thanks for looking out for him, but if you harm one hair on his head, I will hunt you down.”_

_“Yeah yeah, I know, he told me you're all kinds of vicious, and you'll set my cloak on fire while I'm wearing it.”_

_“You have a cloak?”_

_“Hell no, what kinda weirdo has a cloak.”_

Harry choked.

Daryl looked him over to see if he needed to whack him on the back. Kid was probably sneaking a cookie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, could use a little sunshine in the comments. :)
> 
> You know, I kept thinking Daryl would call Hermione something like badass there at the end, but I couldn’t settle on anything, so went with vicious. Underneath those curls and brain, she sure is prepared to protect her own. Marietta sure found out. Malfoy probably still cringes.


	15. Daryl Dixon does not need a hug no sirree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl's long damn day continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am out of quarantine and very relieved to report, I did not catch Covid. I've been working on this story every day, but sometimes chapters just take longer to come together.

It had been a long damn day and like hell was Daryl spending anymore of it inside. He parked his old Ford under the rock chestnut oak and shut it off. He could climb that tree right now, could feel the massive ridges of its bark, rough against his fingertips, leaves brushing his face.

Daryl ran his thumb back and forth over the teeth of his truck key and asked, “Ya got some things for sandwiches or somethin’?”

“Sure?”

“Figured we could camp out tonight. I've damn well had it with bein' inside today.” Before the kid could say anything or start folding in on himself, “Daryl raised his hand. “It all had to be done. I ain't complainin’, I’m just tellin’ ya how it is.”

“So…camp out?”

“Ya ever slept in a tent?”

Kid looked like he was about 4,000 miles away. He finally said, “Er, no.”

“Well, ya gotta learn—pitchin’ a tent, buildin’ a fire, findin’ yer way, but most importantly, ya gotta start breakin' in yer new boots.”

Harry packed up dinner and snacks. Daryl stomped around outside, one part packing up their gear and three parts trying to get it out of his system. Nothing good ever came from a Dixon all riled up. Daryl needed to calm the fuck down. At least he hadn't lost it any of the number of times he could have. 

Those fuckers hadn't ever bought the kid underwear. Kid balked at first, but Daryl was adamant. Merle went around bare-assed more than enough as it was, Daryl wasn't going to put up with it from another person. Not even on accident. And the glasses. And the happy meal. Not to mention the boots. _Damn it to hell anyhow._ Daryl kicked an old pail over. That shit was behind him. Daryl had seen to that. He had to prepare the kid for living. _Well shit._ Daryl knew fuck all about living. Now, _surviving,_ he could teach the kid all about surviving. He guessed they'd both just have to muddle their way through living. 

There wasn't nothing that relaxed Daryl like being outside in nature could. It was the only place he could find some sort of peace. Hell, maybe they should just camp out all summer. Wouldn't be the first time he'd slept in the woods going weeks on end. Course, he was looking forward to a little help from the whiskey they'd snagged from the cabin.

* * *

Usually Daryl came to abruptly, but he was warm and comfy and still a little muzzy from the booze the night before. _Huh._

“Are you petting my hair?” asked a very sleepy sounding Harry.

 _Jesus Christ. What the fuck? He sure as hell was._ “Ya bitched up a storm when I nudged you with my foot.”

“You _kicked_ me.”

Daryl scoffed. “So ya said. A million goddamn times. Could just start shovin’ ya onto the floor to wake ya up every mornin’.”

“Nah, I’ll take the petting, besides, we're already on the ground.”

“Not pettin’ ya. Checkin’ fer ticks.”

Big sleepy green eyes peered up at him. “What are ticks?”

“Tiny crawly fuckers that suck your blood and swell up like some kinda Franken-blueberry.”

Kid made the funniest faces. 

"C'mon, Green Eyes. Let's see if ya was payin' attention last night. You're startin' the fire this mornin'. I'll be grumpy without my coffee."

Harry started with a full blown guffaw and it deteriorated into a wheezing, legs kicking, fit of full-on laughter. He finally caught his breath and wheezed out, "I can assure you, you are decidedly grumpy even _with_ your coffee."

"Ya haven't seen anywhere near grumpy yet, ya little shit." And then Daryl thumped him with his pillow, pinning the kid's arms, and proceeded to tickle the everliving hell out of him. But not the mean kind like Merle. Daryl _hated_ that shit.

Breakfast was not good. There was a learning curve with cooking over a campfire, so Daryl had expected it. Showing and explaining only got you so far. The kid. The kid had not been expecting it. Daryl could practically feel the waves of anxiety rolling off of him. Trying to appear even smaller, fidgeting over the pan of somehow simultaneously burnt and raw sausage and eggs. Daryl told him it wasn’t a big deal, but the kid acted…he was acting like he was expecting to get beat.

It hurt. Like a knife twisting in his gut. He tried to keep it from showing on his face, couldn't, so hid it behind his hair.

"Ya think I’m no better than my daddy? It’s only a matter of time until I prove it? That it?"

The kid unfroze enough to shake his head. Big green eyes as wide as they could be.

"Fuck's sake. I ain't ever gonna send ya away. And I ain’t gonna beat ya."

Daryl turned. Fuck if he knew where he thought he was heading.

Kid leapt across the log and threw his arms around him. Daryl started to physically recoil, but the damn kid just hugged him harder, and kept hugging him like Daryl wasn't fixing to die of awkward. And Daryl allowed it. Because honestly, he was too damn startled and confused to function.

Green Eyes had his face buried in Daryl's chest, but he managed to say, "Sometimes it's like I'm back there. Like a nightmare, but I'm awake. It wasn't you I was scared of just then." Then he pulled his head back to look up at Daryl, his expression morphed to concern. "Are you okay? I didn't knee you or something?" 

Daryl gave a choked snort. “Ain’t used to huggin’.”

"Yeah well, Hermione's almost got me trained out of bolting out the door. But I don't think the full-on body flinch is ever going away. It's gotten smaller. Sometimes."

"How long did that take?"

"Oh, five years."

“I didn’t deck ya,” Daryl said.

Harry said, “There’s that,” and then handed him a cookie."

"I swear ya keep them things in yer pocket. Got a damn cookie jar in there?"

Kid grinned like he thought that was the best idea he'd ever heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry was totally thinking of the wizarding tent at the Quidditch Cup during that awkward little pause before he answered.


	16. When it comes down to it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl loses his shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Zephyrfox for discussing stories with me. :)
> 
> I try to update late Sunday nights as a treat for my fellow fools who don't have enough sense to sleep. "For the love of God will anyone please update," this one's for you. (But mostly it's because this scene wasn’t in my original draft, so it took it a few days to come together.)

They weren't all that far from the house, so they packed up and went back when it was time to eat dinner. No sense freaking the kid out again so soon by making him cook over a fire. Retreating to familiar territory. Good for the kid. It didn't matter what it was for Daryl, it was good for the kid.

Daryl watched the kid's fingers dart out from where they were curled in the too long cuffs to grab the last fry, sideswipe the ketchup, and then up, the fry disappearing into his mouth as the fingers disappeared back into the cuff.

“What's the deal with the sleeves, Hen?”

The little shit mimicked him right back. “What's the deal with the no sleeves, _Dare?”_

Daryl muttered, “SassyAss,” he tapped his glass but then grudgingly admitted, “Can’t fuckin’ stand ‘em.” He gave an involuntary shiver of disgust. “Plus, hate bein’ constricted.” He raised his elbows to shoulder height and swung them back and forth out of habit. “Now what's your excuse?”

“Maybe I'm cold.”

Daryl narrowed his eyes. “It's in the 80s.”

Hen jutted out his chin. Daryl made his “I mean business” lips.

The kid relented. “It's to keep my scars covered _okay_ you nosy git!”

“Already seen yer arms.”

Daryl studied him. The kid curled in, staring a hole in the floor, willing himself to disappear. Daryl was sure as shit familiar with that move. _What'd I miss?_

“You always got them cuffs down 'round your fingers. Thought it was ‘cause you're small, but that ain't it.”

 _Oh, there it was._ Turning invisible wasn't going to work, so kid was all fire, gonna fight his way out.

Before the kid could lay into him, Daryl raised his hands just off the table, palms out. “Ya ain't gotta tell me nothin’. But that don't mean I ain't gonna ask.” Daryl stared at Hen for a good long while. “Fine. We’ll drop it for now. But I got other questions.”

“Of fucking course you do,” the kid muttered under his breath.

Daryl rubbed at a stain on the table with his fingertip. “Ya talk in yer sleep, and I don't mean when you're screamin’. That Sirius and Cedric?” Daryl glanced up and continued, “They was killed?”

“Murdered.”

“You was there?”

“It was all my fault, they were after me.”

Daryl frowned. “What I'm gettin’ at is ya got people after ya? And they're killers?”

Kid nodded. “Yes,” looking all heartbroken, he said, “I can leave—”

That pissed Daryl off. “Don't be a dumbass. How many times I gotta fuckin’ tell ya? I ain't sendin’ ya away. I ain't scared o’nothin’, I'm just…lookin’ to tailor your lessons. Was thinking I could start teachin’ ya your hand gun today.”

“The main guy, the leader, he killed my parents. People have thought they killed him before, but he just keeps coming.”

“People can survive all sorts of things. Ya only get one shot, ya gotta make it count. So it's like a gang or somethin’?”

Kid gave a funny snort. “Yeah, they're a gang or something, all right.”

“Come on, let's grab our shit. I've got some targets set up. Lookin’ forward to seein’ what kinda eye ya got now that you got them new specs.”

"Lookin' forward to you not being an utter arsehole about it." The kid danced to the side when Daryl went to give him a half-hearted swat.

Daryl looked over the Glock 19 and said, “Goddamn. That is one ugly gun. Don’t matter, it'll serve its purpose.”

“Hunting?” Harry asked.

“Nah, I’m gonna teach ya how to hunt mostly with that compound bow we took.” Daryl looked him square in the eye. “The gun’s for ‘takin’ out the people tryin’ to kill ya.”

Harry was taken aback.

Daryl said, “The only way to reliably stop a threat with a handgun is to put a bullet, any bullet, through the central nervous system,” like he was quoting from memory.

“Huh?”

“That fancy school of yours not teach Biology or Health?”

Harry shook his head.

Daryl frowned and ran his fingers along Harry's upper back and neck, and said “The spinal cord” and then the base of his skull,”Or brain stem.”

“But…”

“It ain’t how guns are taught, but I don’t give a fuck about that. Cops and shit swear by center mass, but we ain't fuckin’ around. Sure as shit not bankin’ on spray and pray. You pick up a gun to shoot someone, you're aimin’ to kill and not let them get off another shot.”

_Daryl was going to teach him?_

“If ya wasn't worried about them findin’ ya, I reckon you would've told yer girl Hermione where you was.”

Harry scrunched up his face and said, “Shite.”

“What?”

“I was actually worried about my headmaster finding out and having me returned to the Dursleys.”

“Is that like yer school principal or somethin’?”

“Yes.”

“Why the fuck would your headmaster care? Or even have any standing?”

Harry was not getting into that. “Back to the gang of killers after me, I don't _think_ they'll find me.”

“But they're still out there, and they could. Means we prepare for the worst.”

Harry felt faint. He didn't want to even consider the _worst._

“Accuracy is what matters and by God you're gonna learn. I’m gonna teach ya how to shoot. Cleaning and safe handling is a part of that. But you ever see one of them killers ‘round here, you're gonna put a bullet in their head, and ya ain't gonna stop and think about it.”

Harry didn't know what to say. Daryl must have mistook it for revulsion or something. “Look, I don't want ya to have to kill anyone, but if it's you or them, make sure it's them.”

Harry felt Quirrel’s face burning away beneath his hands and grimaced. “I can do what I have to.”

“I don't like it. But it ain’t never mattered what I like.”

“You and me both, mister. How do you know all this anyway?” Harry asked.

“Merle was in the Marines. ‘til they booted his dumb ass out. A buddy of his came out a couple of times. Black sheep of a family of federal agents or some shit. They taught me…things.”

“To shoot?”

“Nah, I grew up shootin’ my supper, but…Merle figured I needed to be able to shoot _people_ when the time came. Course he wouldn't shut up abut me being too big a pussy to ever do it.”

“What an arse.”

“His buddy must've got sick of it ‘cause he clocked Merle a good’un. He said…he said to me that he hoped I wouldn't ever have to, but he said I'd know, when the time came, I'd know.”

“Have you ever shot anyone, Daryl?”

“No, thought I was gonna get shot a couple of times.”

“Because of Merle?”

“Yeah, Merle. Now that I'm outta school and…well, it's just me mostly, I don't get into shit on my own.”

At Harry's raised eyebrow, Daryl quirked a smile. “Well, not as much anyway. Dixons always gonna call trouble to ‘em, but hell, Merle goes out and hunts it down and lassos it. I don't go lookin’, it just finds me.”

Harry snorted. “Me too. Hey, Dare?”

“Yeah, Hen?”

“If it ever comes down to you or someone else, make sure it's them.”

It was Daryl wiggling his held out hand this time, until Harry took his and they shook on it. 

“Last ones standing,” Daryl said. 

“Last ones standing,” Harry repeated.

* * *

Instead of immediately dropping it like he usually would, Daryl slid his thumb down to rub across the back of Hen’s hand. The kid went from confused to shocked to furious, but before he could even think of yanking his hand back, Daryl pulled and twisted so Hen’s forearm was pinned between his arm and side and Daryl was holding out Hen’s hand to get a real good look at the back of it. The kid was pounding on his back, hollering for Daryl to let him go.

Daryl said over his shoulder, “You're gonna be there all day if you're lookin’ to hit a spot that ain't already fucked up.” 

He got a kick in his calf for that. _Deserved it._ Daryl squinted at the back of Hen’s hand. _Is that?_

Daryl lost his shit.

* * *

_Okay, now he had seen Daryl Dixon angry._

“What in the goddamn fucking hell is that?” Daryl yelled.

Harry was finally loose. Daryl hadn't hurt him, but Harry was rubbing his hand on principle. “Didn't get a close enough look when you were pawing it?”

“Didja get that at home?”

“It's from school.”

“Are you _shittin’_ me?

Harry waved the back of his hand for emphasis as he said bitterly, “I must not tell lies.”

“Explain.”

“A teacher _really hated_ me.”

“And _carved words into your hand._ ”

And Harry nodded because what else could he do?

Daryl was really, really angry.

_Okay, that was actually a scary sound._

Harry offered, “She won't be teaching there anymore at least?”

“Nah,” Daryl said, shaking his head, “Nah, fuck that shit. Fuckin’ hellhole. You ain’t going back there.”

“What?! It's my school! Of course I have to go back! People are counting on me!”

Daryl counted off on his fingers, “Your teacher tried to kill you. You nearly died. Your friend got killed. Your teacher tortured you by carving words in your hand. And that’s just the shit you admitted! Like hell are you goin’ back there.”

“I have to.”

“Then I’m comin’ with ya, and I will burn it down.”

“You can’t!” _There’s charms to prevent that, right?! Merlin, can you imagine the look on Malfoy’s face when Daryl points his crossbow at him?_

“Look. I get it. Adults are fuckng useless and bad shit happens, but none of that shit is okay. I'm lookin’ after you now. And I ain't gonna stand for any of that shit.”

“But my friends—“

“I'll be havin’ a little chat with Hermione.”

Harry kicked at the dirt and grumbled, “I always wished someone would come and take me away.” 

Daryl said, “Yeah me too.”

They glared and stomped around a bit and finally Daryl said, "C'mon. We're too pissed off for this. Let's drag this shit on back. We can chop some wood. Burn off yer fury."

 _"My_ fury," Harry said in disbelief.

"Hey, ya got any of them cookies?" Daryl asked.

"Work up an appetite from throwing that tantrum?"

"Reckon I can just hold ya upside down and shake ya and see if cookies fall out."

"You brute."

"Rawr," Daryl said. Then he smirked and pounced.


	17. Fed Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wakey Wakey Eggs and Bakey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to point out the “Relationship Tags to be Added”. And other tags to be added in general. This story isn’t written yet. And even when I start out stories with a particular relationship in mind, I’ve had characters come in and hijack things and completely upend everything. So, if you don’t mind uncertainty, that’s great. But if you need to know exactly what you are getting into before you read a story, maybe bookmark it and check the tags when it’s done?
> 
> Because I don’t actually know what’s going to happen for sure until it’s written. I will tag as I go.
> 
> I will also use content warnings. It isn’t my intention to spring things on people. What I do know is these sweet boys are 100% touch-starved puppies, and they deserve nice things. It can’t all be zombies and dark lords.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I apologize if I’ve caused any problems.

Daryl woke, but kept his eyes closed. Listening. By the sound of his breathing, Hen was still asleep. He most certainly was _not_ going to pet the kid's hair until he woke up. He should really just launch the kid onto the floor and be done with it. _Yeah. Definitely._

Daryl cracked open an eye. The kid had his scarred hand curled against his chest like he was protecting it. Daryl rubbed where his chest twinged and sighed. Kid’s hair was a clusterfuck. When he swept a particularly unruly bit away from his eyes, Hen’s nose wrinkled in his sleep.

Daryl frowned. He had lost his shit yesterday. Spectacularly. _Jesus._ Like Daryl Dixon had any business telling anyone what they could or couldn’t do, let alone thinking he could raise some kid. What in tarnation had gotten into him?

What the hell did he have to offer anyone? Demanding he quit school. No, he’d said he couldn’t go back to _that_ school. Kid could go somewhere local. Maybe. It wouldn’t be fancy but for fucksake at least they had biology and health and English. And if anyone gave the kid a lick of trouble, Daryl’d take care of it, right quick. 

And telling the kid he had to _kill_ people. _Christ_ Daryl hated himself. Even more some days than others. This morning especially. 

He’d fucked up. He was sure of it. But try as he might, he couldn’t see another way it could have gone. 

_Well._ He reckoned he could go right on hating himself as long as the kid stayed in one piece. The way Green Eyes screamed in his sleep tore Daryl up inside. And he was sure the kid hadn't even begun to tell him the things that had happened. Not really. And what he did know left him with some strange type of anger he hadn't felt before. He shied away from considering his daddy. Daryl would always put himself between the kid and danger, but he couldn't take the risk that he wouldn't be enough. Hopefully the kid wouldn't need it, but if Daryl was going to look after him, by God Daryl _was_ _going to look after him._

The sound changed. Daryl looked down. The kid was frowning.

"I can hear you thinking,” Hen said. One green eye popped open. Looking all accusing and shit. 

“Ya bitched when I _nudged_ ya awake with my foot,” Daryl grumbled.

“Thought you were going to pet my hair.” Hen closed his eyes and wiggled closer like a kitten expecting to get pet.

“Sassy little shit.” Daryl nudged him with his elbow, but not too hard. “G’on, get.”

“Mmmmm warm,” the kid stretched out all lazily like he had all the time in the world.

Daryl frowned and stuck a finger in his side.

The kid curled away. “Stop! You know I'll just have to start over.”

“You and yer damn stretchin’ routine. Like a damn cat or somethin’,” Daryl grumbled, but then he peeked out from under his hair and said, “Or a puppy,” and poked him in the nose.

The kid just kept stretching. Daryl made to bite the forearm brushing across his face, but by the time he moved his jaw to get his mouth on it, the kid had yanked it back and was giggling.

“That tickles!”

“Huh?” _What had he done?_

The kid eyed him, but started stretching out again. _Little pain in the ass._ What got him all giggly? _Maybe…_

When the kid ventured an arm out again, Daryl ran his stubbly jaw along the inside of it and the kid shrieked. 

_Ha! It was on!_ “What's wrong? Can't handle a few whiskers?”

Well, the kid was all pink cheeked and laughing, but it got him outta bed. And if that involved him falling outta bed trying to escape being tickled, at least Daryl hadn’t pushed him. 

* * *

Once again, Daryl had fucking had it. Green Eyes was like a damn Jack-in-the-box. The next time the kid popped up from the table to get something, Daryl grabbed him around the waist, growling, “I told ya to sit yer ass down.” And pulled him into his lap. 

The kid squawked. Daryl had an arm around his middle, he wasn’t going nowhere until Daryl was good and ready to let him. 

“Yer just gonna fuckin’ hover and not eat a goddamn thing. Eat.” 

The kid crossed his arms.

Daryl gave him a LOOK. “I’d think twice about going the toddler route.”

“I’m not throwing a _fit,_ I’m just—”

“Sulking with your arms crossed?”

“I’m in your lap!”

“You’re welcome to your own chair when you can goddamn eat. All yer hovering’s gonna put me off my food.

“Didn’t think anything could put a Dixon off their food,” the kid grumbled.

Daryl poked him in the ribs. “Eat.”

The little shit ran his finger through the gravy on Daryl’s plate. But before he could get it to his mouth, Daryl snatched the finger and sucked the gravy off.

“Ew!” the kid hollered.

Daryl stuffed some bacon in the kid’s mouth. Kid gave him a shitty look the entire time he was eating it, but he ate it.

They got their usual pokes and jibes in, but the kid ate a decent meal and Daryl got to eat his in…well, as much peace as he was ever likely to get.

“Ya gonna start sittin’ through a meal from now on?” Daryl said in his “ya damned well will” voice.

The kid looked at him. Like really looked. _Ah hell, SassyAss is up to something._

“You take a shower every night before bed,” the kid said.

Daryl got a real sour look on his face, he could feel it.

But the little shit just held his hand out and said, "Deal?"

Daryl would've growled at him, but he knew it wouldn't do no good. SassyAss knew he was soft on him. 

"You're makin' biscuits like I showed ya, every morning for at least a week," Daryl said.

Green Eyes just wiggled his hand expectantly.

Once the kid finally said, "Fine," Daryl shook it. Then he went to dump that little shit on the floor, but didn't have the heart to. So he caught him after he dropped like an inch.

Big green eyes met his. "Oh no, you stole me," and then he ground his bony butt into Daryl's thigh, "you're keeping me." And then he snatched up Daryl's last piece of bacon, elbowing Daryl all the while.

Once he figured the kid had swallowed enough he wouldn't choke, Daryl ran his chin over the nape of the kid's neck. The kid shrieked and slipped off his lap and out through the door. Daryl followed at a much more leisurely pace.

He stopped and stared at his boots on the porch. "What the fuck?" Eventually he poked his head out the door and hollered, "Hen! Why's there a dead rabbit on my boots?!" Then he saw the snake coiled up in a patch of sun, she waved her tail lazily.

"Oh, Sassafras left that for you this morning. Like a present? She must have approved of something.”

Daryl tipped his head to the snake and said a quiet, "Thanks?" He still had no idea what kind of snake she was, but he had enough sense not to get on her bad side. What the fuck could a snake possibly approve of anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry has been anxious at the other meals, it just wasn’t as overtly described, but of course Daryl has been noticing. I feel like the only emotion Daryl’s been allowed is anger, well, except shame. So that's an ongoing thing too.
> 
> I have to take a little trip. (Yes, I will be as careful as possible.) So, it may be a few extra days before I can get the next chapter done and posted. If you don't hear from me, just assume I'm out driving around.


	18. Second opinion, second chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione follows Daryl’s advice and visits Viktor, seeking a second opinion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made it home! So here's a short check-in with Hermione.

Hermione landed in a heap where the portkey unceremoniously dumped her like a sack of potatoes. But before she could get a good look at the ornate ceiling or even get out a full huff of exasperation, Viktor Krum was offering his sure strong hand, “Please, let me be of assistance, Hermione.”

Hermione held her palm out to hold him off. “Give me a minute. I’m…”—her other hand hovered over her injured side—“if you pull me up, I’ll probably scream.”

Viktor dropped to his knees. “You’re injured?” He looked torn between immediately checking her over and maintaining propriety. 

Hermione found propriety…quaint. 

She hugged him. Tight. “I’m sorry I haven’t been in contact. This year was horrible. Then I was in St. Mungos. They’ve done what they could, but I still get weak. Oh, Viktor! I need your help.” 

“Come. Let’s get you somewhere comfortable.” He ever so gently helped her to her feet and then offered his arm.

From the reception hall, he led her to a parlour that showcased wooden carvings and intricate carpentry.

Once they were seated, with Hermione on a sofa and Viktor in a nearby chair, he asked, “Were you ill or injured?”

“I was injured. By a spell.” She refused to bite her lip or show any other signs of wilting. “There was a battle with Death Eaters. In the Ministry of Magic.”

“What was this spell?”

“A purple spell by Antonin Dolohov.” 

He said some very angry sounding words in what she assumed was Bulgarian. “I will speak to father of swearing a feud.” 

“That’s not why I’m here.”

“They did not remove it?”

“No, not completely.”

“Incompetent English Healers,” Viktor cursed.

She gave a short laugh. “I assure you incompetency in Magical Britain is not limited to healers. First, I need to protect my mind from Legilimency. And I need a way to protect my parents from Death Eaters, and there’s other things, but those are the primary ones.”

“No,’ Viktor said.

“No?” Hermione’s mouth hung open.

“No, first we see to your health. That is the primary importance. Later, we discuss the others.” I’ve already called father. He will contact healers.”

“How did you call your father? I just got here.”

Viktor showed her his dark leather cuff with a striking blue stone. “I push my magic in here, it summons father to me. Only for very important matters.”

Hermione tried to get a better look at the stone and said, ”I would love to know the spell work on that.”

Viktor pulled his sleeve back down, obstructing her view.

“Oh!” she said. “And I need a way to communicate back-and-forth in a journal. I’m not sure what will work. I brought two just in case you could help. So I can write across the ocean like to Canada or Asia but it has to be okay to use in Muggle areas. The person sees what I write and they write back, but they have to be the only person who can open it and read it. And only I can open and read mine.”

“This is doable. Later.”

“Merlin!” Hermione said. “I need to figure out how to protect my parents’ minds too.”

Viktor gave a sad shake of his head “That can’t be done. You just won’t be able to tell them things.”

Then it was a blur of activity, Viktor’s father arrived, then came the healer who was pretty snotty about incompetent English healers. But given her previous prognosis of “suck it up and live with it” vs. “I’ve removed the curse as explained. Here is a strict regimen you must adhere to in order to be good as new,” she’d take it.

The healer had been stern, but mercifully willing to explain what had to be done, at least after he had pronounced her magical education appalling and made her promise to rectify that. Now that she understood the basic mechanics, she’d take a judicious use of dark magic over ineffectual handwringing any day. Certain curses were untreatable in Britain because the healers were barred from using or even learning the healing magic necessary to treat them because the spells were considered dark. She would not, however, be detailing her miraculous recovery to the Weasleys. She’d made the informed choice that was right for her. Why put herself through the inevitable reproaches or Melin forbid, Molly’s screeching via Howler? She’d tell Harry though. He knew how to keep a secret.


	19. Swimming Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl teaches Harry to swim.

Harry rarely wakes first, but he did this morning. He’s struck by Daryl sleeping, how the tension has bled out of him. He looks younger. Not angry. Like he’s at peace. Like he can’t ever just _be_ in the waking world. 

“The fuck you doin’?” Daryl grumbled. But he didn’t open his eyes, so Harry figured it was fine.

Harry ran his fingers through another section of Daryl’s soft shaggy hair and said, “Checking for ticks.”

“Ain’t got no ticks.”

“Can’t be too sure.” Harry scratched behind Daryl’s ear. 

Daryl wrinkled his forehead.

“Might have fleas,” Harry offered, but before he could get tossed out of bed, he used his thumbs like Hermione did when he had a super terrible extra bad headache.

 _“Nghh."_ Daryl visibly melted. Just a bit.

Harry kept that up for a while. Then he swept the hair out of Daryl’s face and rubbed along his hairline, then back behind his ears again.

Then he smirked and shoved all that shaggy hair forward into Daryl’s face and laughed and jumped out of bed and ran.

* * *

Hen brought over the platters and said, “Waffles with a side of biscuits.”

Then he made a show of sitting in his seat. Daryl snorted. Kid was sassy as fuck, but he was going to keep it parked, unless he wanted a repeat of the other morning. Daryl looked around the table, then kicked Hen’s chair leg before he got up to go get the butter and syrup. The little shit had done it on purpose. But Daryl has been looking after himself a long time. It wasn't nothing to fetch what he needed. No sense getting used to anyone waiting on him anyway. And it sure was nice to have someone fucking with him out of playfulness for once, and not mean-spiritedness or spite. And besides, Daryl could give better than he got.

The waffles were just as good as the first time. Daryl would keep them in mind the next time Hen was angling for one of his deals.

When Daryl was on his third waffle, Hen said, “I was thinking since you demanded biscuits all week,”—then he peeked out from under his hair—“maybe we could go get that buttermilk and lard you mentioned? Since you said you liked those best?”

Daryl studied him while he was licking the syrup off his palm. It took him a minute. “You're wantin’ to go back to McDonalds, ain't ya.”

Hen gave a sheepish grin.

Daryl scoffed. “I got a Happy Meal toy collector on my hands.” 

Hen fiddled with his fork.

“A’ight, we’ll go sometime. Thanks for breakfast. It was real good.”

* * *

Forget school. It was going to take Daryl six months to get the kid up to date on basic life skills. He stood in front of his old Ford, arms crossed and eyeing the kid. “Ya ain't got the first idea about cars or trucks, do ya.”

“I know not to drive them into a tree,” Hen muttered. 

“Ya gotta be shittin’ me, ya wrecked a car?”

 _“Ron_ was driving. I was an unwitting accomplice.”

“Ya _stole_ a car?”

“It was his dad’s car. His older brothers had already borrowed it to come kidnap me for school earlier that summer. Bit of a tradition really.”

“Kidnap you. To take you to school,” Daryl repeated incredulously.

“The Dursleys locked me in my room and refused to let me go to school, so the twins came and busted me out.” He laughed. “Pulled the bars off the windows and everything!”

“Bars,” Daryl growled under his breath. Then he said, “Ya know anything about what’s under the hood?”

“Hood?”

Daryl scowled and thumped the metal.

“Oh! I do know we call that the bonnet. But that’s the extent of my automotive knowledge.”

“Ya ain’t learnin’ to drive until ya know at least the basics of maintenance and repair and ya can bet yer ass I’m gonna be timin’ ya changin’ the tires.”

“You’re going to teach me to drive?!”

“Not for a while. Don't think I forgot abut ya tryin’ to drown yourself. You're learnin’ to swim. _Today._ Go get yer swim trunks and that shirt thing.”

“Rash guard,” Hen helpfully supplied.

“Whatever. I'll grab the towels ‘n shit.”

* * *

When Daryl had taken him shopping, he'd told Harry they’d need swim trunks. Then he’d scowled at the display and yanked a shirt off the rack and half thrown it at him, saying, “You're pasty as fuck, ya gonna burn surer than shit. Ain’t wastin’ no money on that pussy sunscreen.”

But Daryl got one too. And Harry was glad not to have his back on display. Daryl was really very thoughtful. He just had to act all grumpy about it.

* * *

Harry loved the swimming pool. Bright summer sun reflecting off the water. The sounds of laughter and splashing water. Daryl’s sun-bleached hair. The scent of suntan lotion. Daryl had snorted and said it was the smell of fake coconuts and regret. "Don't ever drink Malibu, kid.”

Daryl had been working on teaching Harry the front crawl for a while now. 

“The hell ya doing with yer fingers all spread out? You're trying to _pull_ the water. Fer fucksake. I'm gonna super glue yer fingers together.”

“Speedy toes. C’mon. Like ya stole the last waffle and I'm chasin’ yer ass.”

“Now run yer thumb up the side of yer body, get that high elbow, okay turn yer head and breathe; extend yer arm, pointy fingers, face back down, breathe out. Good. Now pull the water, down to yer hips.”

Once Harry was standing in the shallow end, taking a breather, he asked, “How do you know all this?”

“It's just mechanics.”

“Did you have lessons?”

Daryl snorted. “Ain’t never had lessons for nothin’. Merle taught me the basics. Learned the actual mechanics and finer points later on.”

“But how?”

Daryl ducked his head and turned a bit pink, but he answered, though it was real quiet, “Outta a book.” 

* * *

They were in the deep end, so Hen could work on treading water.

A boy, Daryl reckoned he was about 8, swam over and said, “Whatcha doin’?”

Daryl glared, figuring that would chase him off, but Hen gave him a quick wave. The fool.

The boy asked Hen, “Is it a game? Can I play?”

Daryl shut that shit down. “He don't talk. We’re treadin’ water. G’on get.”

The boy kept on yapping.

Daryl asked, “Where’s yer mama?” wondering why in the hell she wasn't freaking out over her kid talking to him. He didn't fancy it, but he sure expected it.

“Oh no, I'm here with my older sister, Jacey. She's busy playin’ tonsil hockey. Her boyfriend buys me ice cream if I leave them alone.”

Hen’s face lit up at the words ‘ice cream’. Because of course it did.

A couple more kids swam up. “This looks like a stupid game.”

Daryl got a real mean look and said, “We’s fixin’ to play shark attack. Was just waitin’ on some bait to show up.” Then he roared and lunged for the kids and they shrieked and swam off. He turned back to Hen with a smirk, but kept an eye out. He couldn't believe it. The little shits came creeping back. No sense of self preservation.

“I’m it!” the ‘stupid game’ brat announced. The others were making Jaws noises, Daryl just stretched out his arm and palmed the brat's forehead who was trying to attack him. Brat's arms kept flailing. Daryl was just holding him there, rolling his eyes. Hen sure was laughing.

Finally the brat chased the others back to the shallow end. 

“You look so grumpy when you're having fun,” Hen said.

“I am grumpy and this ain't fun.” Daryl had a hard time scowling past the smile trying to form.

Hen just laughed harder.

They were both that sort of tired and hungry you only get after swimming outdoors in the summer. Daryl led Hen over to the concession stand.

“Ya know what ya want?”

Hen shook his head, then whispered, “I accidentally got a lemon ice lolly once.”

Daryl looked down at him with a frown. Then stepped up to the order window. 

“Gimme one o’them King Size Triple Chocolate Sundae Cones, an ice cream sandwich, and a Snickers ice cream bar.”

He didn't need to glance down to know big green eyes were staring up at him.

“Figured you can try all three. See what ya like. And it ain't gonna go to waste.”

They sat at one of the picnic tables. Daryl handed Hen the Snickers bar. 

"This'un 'll melt the quickest." 

Those big green eyes lit up. Then he was tearing open the wrapper. 

Daryl picked at the peeling green paint on the tabletop.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Hen asked real quietly through a mouthful. 

Daryl looked up and laughed. "Did ya get _any_ of that chocolate in yer mouth?" Kid had chocolate smeared all over. "Go on and eat what ya want first."

Daryl heard an answering giggle and looked around. There was a toddler in a stroller at the next table, waving some kind of stuffed bunny around. Little blonde girl. He had no idea how old. She squawked and waved the bunny again. So he waved the sundae cone at her. She shrieked in delight. He smiled. She was real cute. Hen handed him what was left of the Snickers bar and made grabby hands for the sundae cone. Daryl finished what was left of the Snickers bar in about two bites. 

"Shoulda fed ya the ice cream _before_ ya got in the pool. I've seen cleaner pigs layin' in a mud puddle."

Hen flipped him off and kept chowing down. Daryl laughed. Kid was learning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s too cold for swimming and I’m all out of ice cream. _Sighs._
> 
> Please stay safe this week. <3


	20. Back in Bulgaria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Checking in on Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The phone conversation is in italics.
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving if you celebrate it, Happy Thursday, if you don't.

Hermione was sitting in her spot, shaded beneath a silver lime tree. She liked the feel of its smooth light grey bark beneath her fingers. It was within earshot of a burbling stone fountain. So soothing. She liked to sit out here alone toward evening, just to think. Viktor left her to it, but he had quietly said he hoped she would stay to see her tree in full flower. 

Her stay at what turned out to be the Krum’s summer residence had been wonderful. While the healer had prescribed potions, Viktor’s mother prescribed fresh morning air and sunshine. So more often than not, she and Viktor would share a surreptitious second breakfast out in the gardens with whatever delight he had nicked from the kitchen. This morning it had been fresh cherries. She rubbed at the slight stain on her fingers, and blushed, remembering Viktor bringing her sticky fingers to his lips. 

Some days they took a walk to the village with its lovely houses. Many had stone foundations with timber walls and overhanging top stories. And the gardens! It was wonderful.

As lovely as Viktor’s house was with its graceful arches, sculpted gargoyles, and tiled roof, it was the library that Hermione wanted to spend every waking moment in. _And it wasn't even the family’s main library._ For starters, it was floor to ceiling bookshelves, and it was a very tall ceiling. No matter where you looked, there was always some intricate carving or some beautiful detail you'd somehow never noticed before in the absolutely gorgeous dark wood. But the books! Branches of magic no longer offered at Hogwarts. Different approaches to the subjects that were taught at Hogwarts. Spellcrafting. Wards. Wizarding Ettiquette. She was learning a few things that she was frankly appalled that no one had ever told her. And deep blue velvet chairs, that were so comfortable, Hermione suspected magic was at play.

She had been careful to avoid even a hint, let alone any details about what led her here. She hadn't brought up Harry once. Nor a word about the very strange phone call from that rather rude American. Viktor might be a formidable athlete, but there wasn't an ounce of stupid on him. 

The second evening after dinner, he had taken her hand. “It will be easier for me to help you when you tell me what you are planning.”

“Planning? I'm not planning anything, Viktor.”

He had pressed his lips together, then finally said, “Very well, I am still pleased to be of service, Hermione.”

Then he had taken her hand and said, “You are a very brilliant and beautiful and loyal young lady, Hermione Granger. Your friendship means everything to me. I would refuse you nothing.”

“Oh Victor I didn’t mean to take advantage.”

“You did not take advantage. I’m delighted you let me show off Durmstrang’s superiority in spell work,” Viktor had smiled his teasing smile she had only been shown this visit. He was opening up to her. As he grew more comfortable, as they grew closer, he was slowly revealing more of himself. She liked what she saw.

She leaned back against the tree, her fingers caressing the pendant she now wore. A blackcap was singing nearby. So peaceful. She closed her eyes and sank into this small pocket of bliss. 

Her cell phone rang. She sighed.

_“Hello?”_

A gruff voice with a distinct southern drawl demanded, _“This Hermione Granger?”_

 _“Oh, it’s_ **_you."_ **

_“Hey now, being a go between weren’t my bright idea.”_

_“Well, you could tell me your name, and I could greet you properly.”_

_“You know the drill. Your lil buddy”_ —there was an _oof,_ Harry must have smacked him— _“wants to know if that new doctor fixed ya up.”_

_“Yes, you were right to insist I seek a second opinion. I can’t thank you enough, Mr.…”_

_“Nice try missy. Now did ya get yer cryptic shit sorted out so you can talk to the kid?”_

_“Yes.”_

She could hear him talk to Harry, “She said she did.” She couldn’t hear what Harry said, but she distinctly heard the guy say, “Thank fuck.”

And then it was Harry on the line saying, _“Hermione?”_

 _“Oh,_ **_Harry!_ ** _It’s so good to hear your voice!”_

_“Likewise.”_

_“Now what in the world have you done?”_ she said.

 _“Nice try. That ‘Oh,_ **_Harry!’_ ** _sounded exactly like the time you spilled a bottle of ink all over my potions essay. You first.”_

_“I’m sorry, I know you want me to marry Ron so when you marry Ginny—”_

_“Excuse me?!”_ Harry said.

 _“I’d thought about it, marrying Ron someday, but I was so damned mad when the Weasleys brushed off my health problems. And I know they would be horrified I let someone use dark magic on me to remove Dolohov’s curse, but…but Viktor’s so smart and he knows I’m smart and he appreciates it and he can teach me things and I can teach him things and there’s so much we can talk about. And we make a good team. He really_ **_gets me,_ ** _Harry.”_

_“Viktor Krum is an excellent guy. But seriously what the fuck? Me and Ginny? Where did you get that idea?”_

_“It's always seemed like a foregone conclusion.”_

_“To who?”_ he asked indignantly.

_“Whom, Harry, to whom.”_

_“Is now really the time for a grammar lesson?”_ he shouted. 

‘It’s always time for a grammar lesson,’ Hermione thought, but said, _“To Ginny and Molly and Ron.”_

_“Ew. No.”_

_“Huh.”_ She paused, calculating, _“To be fair, I don’t think Ron is set on Ginny more than any of his brothers.”_

_“What?”_

_“I'm just saying, if you like boys, that would be fine.”_

_“What?!”_

Then the gruff voice was back on the line, _“Don’t go breakin’ the kid._ _The hell ya say to him anyway?”_

_“Fine, I’ll quit traumatizing him with marriage talk”_

A strangled _“What?!”_

Then Harry was back on the line.

_“Anyway Harry, you should have seen the fit Viktor and then his father and then their healer had when they saw what shape I was in after St. Mungo’s treated me for Dolohov’s curse and you know my parents begged the Weasleys for more information on what they could do to help me and they said, ‘Rest. That’s all there is you can do.’ But oh my God, Harry! I’m so much better! I’m not so exhausted. I mean I have a potions regimen for weeks, but still, Harry, it’s amazing how much better I’m going to be!”_

_“Is it like magic, Hermione?”_

_“Maybe magic can let me punch you through this phone, Harry James Potter.”_

_“Merlin, don’t ever suggest that to the Twins.”_

_They both laughed._

_“Wait, so you and Viktor are dating?” Harry said._

_“He's courting me, which is how I’m able to talk to you so soon. I’ve been working on Occlumency, but the courting gift Viktor gave me is a family heirloom that blocks mind magic attacks.”_

_“Occ—”_ he cut himself off. _“Did he hurt you?”_ he demanded.

_“What? How on Earth would he hurt me?”_

_“My lessons with Snape…”_ he trailed off.

_“Oh my God, Harry, no!” she said. “Viktor has never been anything, but a perfect gentleman. And Professor Snape—”_

_“Still hates my long dead father and takes it out on me any chance he can get?”_ Harry said bitterly. Then in a curious tone, he asked, _“Courting?”_

_“It's a wizarding tradition with many steps that eventually results in bonding, but it is not going to get you out of answering my questions, Harry.”_

_She heard him gulp._

_“Now what in the world have you done and who is that rude man?”_

_“Er…well?”_

Hermione could just picture him ruffling his already messy hair, clamming up completely. She blew her hair away from her eyes in exasperation. _Twenty questions it is._

_"Is he a wizard?" she asked._

_"No."_

_“You don’t live with your relatives anymore?”_

_“Correct.”_

_“So what? You’re staying with him?!”_

_“Yes.”_

**_"Harry!"_ ** she said in warning.

_“You know all those questions you used to ask me? And I’d refuse to answer?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“It was bad, Hermione. And Daryl, he just knew. And he scooped me up and took me away from that.”_

_“But he’s a stranger!”_

_“Hermione. How well have I fared with the trusted adults in my life?”_

_“Point," she conceded. "You’re safe?”_

_“Yes, I’m safe and there’s food to eat no matter what, and he’s teaching me all kinds of things. Oh my God, he got_ **_so mad_ ** _about…stuff.”_

 _“What stuff?”_ she demanded, mentally gearing up to kick some arse.

 _“Oh you know, me almost dying, teachers trying to kill me, stuff the Dursleys did. Like, he was angry that happened to me?”_ Harry sounded so confused.

_“Oh Harry, he cares about you.”_

_“Huh?”_

_“He must," she sighed. "You're really okay there?"_

__"I really, really am."__

___"Good. Now what else is there?”_ _ _

_“What do you mean ‘what else’?”_

_“It's you, Harry. There's always something else.”_

_“Uh…I have a snake? Er, more like I was totally minding my own business and a snake adopted me.”_

_“What kind?”_

_“Er.”_

_“Let me guess, magical?”_

_“What else could it possibly be?”_

_“Hmm. North America, magical serpent…Merlin, it’s_ **_not_ ** _a Horned Serpent is it?”_

_“Why yes, yes she is.”_

_“Harry! That’s dangerous!”_

_“I’m not kidding when I said she adopted me, Hermione. Besides, she really wanted to bite Uncle Vernon and I told her no and she didn’t.”_

_“Only you, Harry.” Then she said in a leading tone, “You know how I like to **prepare** for the upcoming term…” _

_“Huh?”_

She tried again. _“I expect there will be a lot of challenges in the coming year.”_

_“Because of NEW—I mean because of those new test…things? Those aren't even until 7th year…right?”_ he asked, sounding confused. 

_She sighed. _”I'll just let you know what I figure out. I will do what I have to, Harry.”_ _

_“Okaaay?”_

She rolled her eyes. _“Look, I would tell you to stay out of trouble, but just tell Daryl he can call any time.”_

Harry repeated the message for Daryl and then laughed. _“You should see his face.”_

_“Let me speak with him.”_

_“Yeah?”_ Daryl’s voice came over the line.

_“I mean it, you’re going to have your hands full. Feel free to call me about Harry, anytime.”_

_“Kid’s not been any trouble, ”_ Daryl grumbled. 

She heard Harry crow, “Can I get that in writing?”

 _“You and yer damn dog ears,”_ Daryl grumbled even quieter. Then he loudly said, _“I_ **_said_ ** _kid’s been nothin’ but trouble!”_

_“Thank you for looking after Harry, Daryl.”_

He grunted something that might have been _“Welcome.”_ Then he said, _“Fair warnin’. We’re gonna have a lil chat one of these days about that hellhole y’all call a school.”_

He must have handed the phone back to Harry. 

_“It’s so good to hear you and I'm really glad you're getting better!” Then in a rush he said, “It's all my fault you got hurt! I'm so sorry!”_

_“Harry James Potter! Stop that this instant. You did not hit me with that curse. It is not your fault.” Then she said more calmly, “It was really nice to talk to you at least, Harry.”_

Harry laughed and then said fondly, _“He grows on you.”_

Hermione heard unintelligible grumpiness.

Then Harry was saying, _“We have to go. Apparently there's a **movie** that these Happy Meal toys are from and Daryl's going to take me to see it!”_

Harry sounded so happy just then. 


	21. (Library pun goes here)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl is concerned about Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things got busy in the Dart household this past week. We are all fine. I hope you all are too. With exams and projects and other things coming due in the next few weeks, there may be a lag between updates. I'm doing my best. 
> 
> More importantly, I got a box of ice cream sandwiches which I'd been wanting since I wrote the swim lessons chapter. I also made biscuits and gravy, but haven't had waffles or cookies yet. I hope you've had some lovely things to eat recently.

Daryl woke in the early morning. The covers were twisted and he could feel Hen’s face smooshed against his upper arm. He frowned down at him. Kid always had his face smooshed up against something in his sleep. He rolled his eyes and settled back to enjoy the quiet while it lasted.

He'd talked more since he'd stolen the kid than he probably had for the entirety of high school. But he could tell right off the bat that his voice—when he wasn't yelling at least—soothed the kid. Hell if he knew why. Even when he wasn't fresh out of a nightmare, it did. 

He couldn't find it in him to deny such a small comfort even if it did grate. Daryl knew what it was to do without. But the damnedest thing was, it didn't grate. Not like he'd have thought. 

And besides, Daryl hadn't ever had anyone who listened. Opening his yap got him a “Shut up, Daryleena” or a smack across the mouth. Or both. Even when he was right. _Especially_ when he was right. Words were used to beat him down. Even when Merle was teasing him, it was _mean,_ meant to toughen him up. Supposably.

But teasing Green Eyes was _fun._ That back and forth, Daryl liked that. After always working to keep his tongue locked up tight most of his damn life, it sure was something to let it loose a bit. And the kid’s laugh. Daryl reckoned Green Eyes hadn't had much occasion to laugh like that, even after he went away to that school.

He could do that for the kid. And when it did make his skin chafe, he could just fuck off to the woods for half the day or take the kid out tracking and tell him to be silent or else. The kid sure knew how to shut the fuck up when the situation called for it. Daryl kept from thinking about just why that was.

Daryl would make do. He was used to it. Besides, maybe enough of the kid’s laughter would somehow cleanse the heavy air. It felt lighter inside some days. Somehow. 

He found himself wishing Merle would shack up with some waitress for a month or so. He knew better. (Than to wish.) Merle. Merle was going to be a problem.

Daryl hadn't thought he'd ever have any choice in _any_ matter. But hell, his daddy weren't here no more and Merle was out whoring and dealing more often than not, dragging Daryl along when he felt like it, no matter what Daryl might think of it. But that was the thing. There was never any use thinking. Merle said come, and Daryl did. 

And Daryl had made the choice to steal the kid. Even though it weren't no choice, not really. It was the only thing to be done. But now that he'd made that choice, well, there were more coming. He could feel it.

Daryl looked down again and frowned. Kid was too scrawny.

* * *

They'd been rumbling down the road in Daryl’s old Ford truck for quite some time.

“Why’s the library so far away? Didn't we already pass like two?” Harry asked.

Daryl sunk down just a little in his seat and the tips of his ears burned red. 

“Oh, now I have to know!” Harry said.

“Had to come over this way to bail Merle out. I’s mad. Savin’ that money for bills. Saw this car broke down, itty bitty lady. Figured it’d serve Merle right if I was late, so I stopped to help. Was just a flat tire. Didn’t take but a minute.” He huffed out a breath and faked a lady’s voice, “Well would I mind trailin’ her to work, just to make sure she didn’t have no more problems.” He snorted. “And I thought ‘shit yeah, I mind.’ But she was a little spitfire and I figured it’d piss Merle off, so I trailed after her. Turned out she worked at the library.” He did the voice again, “Well, could I help with a couple of boxes?” “And I said, ‘Lady, I ain’t got all day!’”

“You helped with the boxes, didn’t you,” Harry said. 

Daryl turned redder. “Reckon she might even be smaller than you. Figured she couldn’t lift shit.”

Harry poked him in the biceps. “Ow. I think I hurt my finger.”

Daryl elbowed him. “They was having a book sale. Donated books. Them little old ladies must like their snacks ‘cause they kept poppin’ up with cookies and shit.”

“Bet you were in heaven!”

“Kept trying to get outta there. Finally Monica, that’s her name, ol’ Monica made me get a library card and promise to come back and then I got the hell outta there.”

“And you've been back?”

“Couple o’times. They had some books on the Cherokee and Lower Muskogee Creeks I hadn't seen before.”

“Huh?”

“The people who lived around here before that fucker Columbus showed up. And all the fuckers that came after him.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Do you think they have cookbooks?”

“Yeah. They got all kinds of useful shit. I'd rather learn by doin’, but sometimes ya can't. And Merle don't know as much as he thinks he does. All kinds a shit they never said nothin’ about in school.” 

Harry said, “Well, Hermione will be pleased to hear we went to the library. Ron and I would be dead about twenty times over without her trips to the library.”

Daryl growled.

Harry laughed. Daryl had _no_ idea.

* * *

As they walked up the sidewalk to the front door, Daryl said, “People leave books out front in that little entryway. You can take ‘em and bring ‘em back or keep ‘em I guess. But first I wanna look somethin’ up on the computer.”

Daryl missed the card catalog. Not that he'd ever used it much, but old Mrs. McGrath the librarian had taken to fishing Daryl out of detention to put him to work. Anderson, the dick who taught Science and monitored detention had kicked up a fuss, but Mrs. McGrath’s offer to let Anderson stay after to lift the heavy boxes of books for her instead had him shutting right up. 

Detention beat being at home most days and the library beat being in detention. So, Daryl went along with it. There weren't actually any heavy boxes of books, not really. Sometimes she had him shelve the books and hunt for missing ones, and move the furniture around and whatnot, but sometimes he'd pick up a book and read out of boredom.

What Daryl missed about the card catalog was you could hunch over the little drawer you had open and a judicious placement of thumb could keep nosy fuckers from seeing what your dumbass was looking up. 

Daryl turned his face away from the computer screen and _glared._ “I don't need no help.”

Monica smiled that big toothy smile. People who smiled too much made his skin crawl. “You haven't paid us a visit in ages, Daryl. I just thought I'd come say hello and see if I could assist you.”

“Hello,” Daryl mumbled.

“Who’s your friend?” she asked.

Daryl wanted to say ‘None of yer goddamned business,’ but he said, ‘Henry's kin. He don't talk.”

She leaned forward like she was going to touch Daryl's shoulder and he leapt out of the chair like he'd been shocked, “I gotta make a phone call. Can you show the kid here the cookbooks?”

“Of course.”

Daryl lit out of there like he was on fire. Should've known he couldn't look up nothing without getting the third degree. He be damned if he drove all this way without getting any sort of answer though.

He dialed the phone. It rang several times.

 _“Hello?”_ Hermione answered.

_“'s Daryl.”_

_“What's wrong? Is Harry okay?”_

_“Kid's fine. Got a library question.”_

_“O-kay?”_

_“Kid says ya live in the library, will you help or not?”_

_“Of course.”_

_“I don't know where the fuck to start lookin’ and that librarian wouldn't leave me alone once she saw me at the computer. Kept wantin’ to help. Had to fake a phone call to get away. Thought to call ya.”_

_“I'll be glad to.”_

_“Something about reversing the effects of malnutrition or starvation, I reckon. In_ _case there’s something I need to do special for the kid."_

_“It's that serious?”_

_“Jesus Fucking Christ ya think I'm callin’ ya ‘cause I'm bored and fancied a chat?!”_

_“Don't hang up! Sorry…I…please give me a second to think out loud. First, I think it's great that you want to help and you're looking for information. Second…I'll help you figure out where to look, but would it be okay if…Viktor will probably know a…doctor or…nutritionist,”_

_“Just make sure it can't be traced back to the kid.”_

_“Okay, I'll start looking into it.”_

_“I gotta go, kid's probably making puppy eyes at the librarians and I'm gonna have to fight a bunch of old bitties to get him to come home.”_

* * *

Once they were back out in the truck, Harry said, “Okay, so I didn't say a word, but Monica sure likes playing 20 questions.”

“She asking about you?”

Harry laughed. “Oh no, she was asking about _you!”_

“The hell?

Harry counted off on his fingers, “Is Daryl married? Does he have a girlfriend? Does he have a boyfriend?”

Daryl squawked on that one. 

“Would he like a girlfriend?”

Daryl pulled the key away from the ignition and glared. 

Harry continued gleefully, “Monica—how was it Gladys put it? Oh yes—has the hots for you. She’s 38 and single by the way.”

“Are you _trying_ to set me up?”

“No, Gladys gave me a Twix bar and made me promise to tell you she's happy to play matchmaker. I wasn't going to commit candy bar fraud. She looked like she would be able to tell.”

“You looked kinda mad. Did they kick you out or something?” Daryl asked.

“No, they were just…” Harry remembered how mad he'd gotten when the lot of them were boasting about how much Daryl loved _their_ cookies. “I had to leave before I told them what I thought of their inferior cookies.”

“Ya had some?”

“No. But you’ve had mine. I haven't heard you waxing lyrical over _theirs.”_

Daryl glancd over and said, “Dunno. Maybe I'd better have anther to refresh my memory.”

Harry said “I’m onto you,” and handed him a baggie of cookies.

Daryl smiled down as he opened it. “Them old bitties make some of the driest chalkiest cookies. Not a one of ‘em can hold a candle to yours.”

Harry grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you wondering, Merle told me, "Don't rush me, woman. I'll show up when I'm damn good and ready." 😂


	22. Sharp Little Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl cooks breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This month is crazy. I'll update when I can. Sorry you had to go without the boys for so long. Have a cookie. (Part of the busy has been making quilts for children in need, so I guess it was time spent making actual warm cuddles instead of virtual warm cuddles?) <3

Daryl came to with a gasp, like he was fighting for air. Heart racing. A light came on, just enough to make out shapes by. Must have been a tiny one Hen stole from the cabin.

“You had a nightmare," Hen said, rubbing his eyes.

“Didn't,” Daryl denied out of reflex.

“Well, whatever it was," Hen said, "it sounded like you said, ‘blue coat’ and ‘don’t make me.’” 

“Don't remember nothin’.”

Hen ran his fingers along Daryl’s hairline and said, “Shut your eyes, Dare.”

“No!”

“Huh?”

“Whenever Merle told me to shut my eyes, it was always bad. Real bad.”

Hen frowned.

“I know you won’t do nothin’ bad to me, not really. But I can’t,” Daryl pled. _Fuck. It must've been a nightmare if he was this worked up._

Hen got that sad little frown of his. “It’s been drilled into you. I know how that works. Then he turned off the little light and said, “There you go, you can keep your eyes open all you want.”

Daryl grumbled and gave him a little elbow, but then Hen started running his hands through Daryl’s hair and it was all he could do not to purr. _Mmmmmmmm._ He’d like to never get enough of that.

“Is that good?”

It was such a strange feeling—someone touching him without harming him—he didn't know what to do with it.

"Don’t hate it,” Daryl finally grumbled, but it was hard to sound cranky when he was melting into some sort of confused warmed jelly.

He could secretly like it all he wanted, as long as he wouldn't admit it.

His eyes drifted closed. It didn't count. It was dark.

He must have gone back to sleep because it was light when he opened his eyes again.

* * *

Hen was sitting at the kitchen table, nose stuck in one of the cookbooks he'd gotten from the freebie shelves out in front of the library. One of those spiral ones put together by church ladies or something. Kid was gnawing on his knuckle. Daryl grabbed his wrist.

“Quit eatin’ your hand. We got plenty of food.”

 _Like he had any room to talk._ Still, he didn't want to see the kid torn up, even just a little, even if it was from his own teeth. Only Hen gave a little yank and then those sharp little teeth were gnawing on the meat between Daryl’s thumb and wrist. Not enough to draw blood or nothing, just enough to be a little shit. 

“Too lazy to fix breakfast? Gotta gnaw on me?”

Hen let go and said, “I was looking at this new cookbook and couldn't decide.”

Daryl easily jerked his hand away and then poked Hen in the nose. He nodded toward the book and said, “G’on.” 

Daryl started the coffee and then started pulling out breakfast. 

The kid tried to hop up, “I can–”

Daryl pointed at the chair. “Park it.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn't mean to make you cook.”

“Pfft. As if you could make me do anything.” 

He turned back to the stove and started the grits.

Hen asked, "What’s Chicken and Dumplings?” 

“That's good eatin’. Have to get us a chicken first.”

“Cracker salad?”

“When I take ya fishin’, we’ll get some tomatoes for it.”

“Can’t we just…get tomatoes?”

Daryl looked over his shoulder and wrinkled up his face. “Ya eat it with the fish.”

“Oh. Do you like to cook?”

Daryl scoffed. He muttered, _“Like”_ under his breath. “Had to most times. If I wanted somethin’ to eat, I had to make it and when there weren't no food, I had to go kill it.”

Daryl wasn't going to dwell on it. He'd gone hungry plenty, but it was different hungry than Hen’s.

Hen kept reading, every once in a while he'd ask about a recipe. 

“Stuffed peppers?”

“Ya can just mark that one clean out.”

“Don't like it?”

Daryl made a disgusted face. “I'll eat anything. But if ya make that and I have to eat it, you're sleepin’ on the porch.”

“Duly noted.”

Daryl brought their plates over and said, “Here ya go. Country Ham with Red-Eye Gravy, grits, and biscuits.”

“Wow!”

Daryl just knew his ears were turning red. 

He grumbled, “Eat it 'fore it gets cold.”

The food was real good, so they didn't mess around with talking. The blissful silence only lasted until Hen hopped up to clear the table.

“Have you always lived in this house?” Hen asked.

“Nah, lived in town when I was small. But then Mama burnt up, lived here since. Merle don't like to stick around too long. Now that he's outta the service, if he ain't locked up or just gone, we go driftin’.”

“Drifting?”

“Go place to place, pick up odd jobs when ya can.”

“Do you like it?”

Daryl snorted. He said, “What’d I tell ya about that? Ain’t never mattered what I like.”

“Well?”

Daryl shrugged. “He’s my brother.”

“What happens when Merle comes back?” 

_Damn those big green eyes, lookin’ all sad puppy._

“I ain't leavin’ ya.”

Daryl knew it wasn't as easy as all that. But when the fuck had his life ever been easy.


	23. Alone in Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rainy days are meant to be spent in bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I happened to read the poem "The Overthrow of One O'Clock at Night" by Muriel Rukeyser while I was editing, so that's where the chapter title came from.

Harry awoke. For the first time since Dare had stolen him away, he was alone. He was so struck by the absence, it took him a moment to realize it was raining. The steady sound of it striking the window made him want to go back to sleep. He stretched out and yawned, but it wasn’t the same with no solid wall of muscle to bump up against, no warm calf to press his cold toes to, no halfhearted grouchy grumbles from Dare about getting his hair petted, even as he was leaning into it.

For as much as an awake Daryl was skittish as a feral cat and just as hellbent on not being touched, an asleep Daryl was another matter. Awake, Daryl would initiate contact, but rarely and only under very particular circumstances. Whereas crossed over into sleep Daryl might be likened to the poles on a magnet reversed, no longer set to repel. In sleep they sought each other out, they awoke tangled more often than not.

Perhaps it should have been strange for Harry, sharing a bed, but he’d always wanted a teddy bear—and not just a half-ruined one pulled from the bin in secret and too soon confiscated. Not to mention someone to take him away and to look after him. There had been other times he'd hoped it was happening—that first day in Diagon Alley with a bank vault and _magic,_ when he discovered that Sirius was his godfather and alive and innocent—but nothing had ever changed, not really. 

But _now,_ well, the world was opening up to him in a way that not even _magic_ had allowed, and Harry was loathe to even consider the thought of going without any of these new comforts. He vowed he wouldn't go back to being content with scraps and trash. And he would have his morning hair tousle, feral cat tendencies be damned. 

* * *

Harry found Dare in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter, scowling into his coffee, immediately tensed and ready to spring away. Watchful. At least half-feral cat mode, if not full. 

Harry considered stepping into his space just so, choreographed to herd him out of the kitchen and to the couch, but that was most likely a losing proposition. It was always a safer bet to leave him to his own terms, and lure him closer with food.

Harry said, “Good morning,” and walked to the cabinets to start pulling out things for breakfast.

Daryl didn't even grunt, those intense blue eyes just watched him warily. 

Harry pulled out the wooden tray he had nicked from the cabin, and filled it with cinnamon rolls, the coffee pot, milk, sugar, and a mug for him. He snuck a glance when he didn't get the usual “the hell you doin’?” Dare was looking far more curious at the change in routine than wary. 

Harry answered the unasked question, “I’m having breakfast on the couch. You’re welcome to join me.”

Daryl eyed the tray. If he’d had a tail, it would have given a suspicious twitch, 

There was no sign of a cereal bowl in the sink or on the table. Forget feral cat, extra skittish and standoffish _and_ hungry was going to make for one extra grumpy _bear._ Harry went about his business, pretending to ignore him. He gave the cinnamon rolls a little shake in enticement. He set the tray on the wooden liquor crate doubling as coffee table and took up residence on the couch. His attention appeared to be wholly on the much too big cinnamon roll, but he could sense exactly where Dare was and what he was doing. First he pulled off one of the little globs of glossy white icing. He could just imagine the furrow in Dare’s brow. Usually he would just take a bite, but he was feeling like being a little shite, and it would take Dare forever to slink over without at least a little goading, so he unwound part of the outer ring and nibbled at the cinnamon filling on the inner side. Next he spooned an extraordinary amount of sugar into his mug, he could hear the huff of disgust from nearer the sink now. Then he poured some coffee and stirred, he just stopped himself from looking up to make eye contact while he filled over half the mug with milk. That got a growl from still closer. Harry sat back on the couch, closer to one end than the other, intently nibbling on his cinnamon roll in between sips of milky oversweet coffee.

He could tell Dare didn't want to sit down, but he also knew that Daryl Dixon would probably fight a mountain lion for one of these cinnamon rolls. And he was surely due for a coffee refill. Harry picked up another cinnamon roll, he rolled his eyes at the growl that elicited— _Really? Does he even know he does that?—_ and slid it onto a plate. Then he set the plate closer to the far end of the couch, all without lifting his eyes. And went back to licking the icing off the top of his roll.

Daryl snatched the cinnamon roll, but glared at the couch like it might bite him, Finally, perhaps once he considered it properly intimidated, he sat on the couch, though surely still coiled to spring. 

Harry took the coffee mug from him and refilled it. 

He handed it back and said, “You're welcome.”

Dare nudged his foot against Harry’s. In thanks he supposed. 

Harry let him get halfway through the roll—which was like three bites—before he said, “I’m cold.”

“It’s summer,” Dare contradicted through a mouthful.

Harry scooted over and started the process of curling up half against him. 

“I’m certainly less warm than you.”

“Thought I missed all this nonsense this mornin’,” Daryl grumbled. But he moved his arm a bit to make it easier for Harry to curl up. 

“As if,” Harry said, letting his head flop onto Dare’s shoulder. “It’s raining. Should have just stayed in bed.”

“Lazy.”

Harry lifted his head just a bit and made a ‘pfft’ sound.

“You’re more trouble than these cinnamon rolls are worth.”

Harry made to take the rest of the roll from him. 

Daryl stuffed the end of it in his mouth, but still managed to growl around it.

Harry laughed. He wriggled and made a general nuisance of himself.

“Whatcha buttin’ your head against me for?”

“You didn't tousle my hair this morning.” 

Daryl huffed.

Harry just rubbed his head against Daryl's arm some more.

“Spoilt,” Daryl said in what sounded like was meant to be disgust, but fell well short into fondness.

Daryl grabbed two more rolls and then nudged him and resituated him a bit until Harry had his head on his thigh and then Daryl’s strong sure fingers were messing with his hair, much to Harry’s delight. 

Daryl’s grumbles in between bites of cinnamon roll mixed with the pelting rain, Harry wasn't sure if there was a more soothing sound. Harry wondered what set Daryl off, but he wasn't going to ask. At least whatever was bothering him hadn't driven him out of the house and into the rain. He could drift off to sleep, just like this.


	24. Meat on a Stick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl teaches Harry to track and hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! I got you a chapter!

Now that Hen had his fancy new glasses and could actually see good, Daryl figured his hunting and tracking skills would be coming along. He was just getting started really, but Daryl thought he had potential.

Daryl finished attaching the knife sheath to Hen’s belt. 

“See how ya like that. Can always move it.”

Hen grinned.

“Dunno why ya want it on yer weak side,” Daryl grumbled.

“So you said,” 

Darryl poked him.

Hen said, “Thanks.”

Daryl gave a short nod. He gave a final look over their gear. He said, “I hated havin’ to catch butterflies for Biology. Had to stick ‘em in a jar with a cotton ball full of alcohol.”

Hen didn’t say anything, just kept quiet and waited.

“I don’t mind killing deer ‘n squirrels ‘n rabbits as much, gotta eat, but that frivolous killin’ shit. Always hated it. Didn’t learn nothin’ about a butterfly by killin’ it.”

Daryl turned and started off into the woods, Hen followed.

He didn't know why he kept saying shit like that. Ain't no one ever wanted to hear what Daryl Dixon had to say. But Hen listened. It was just little things like that. Didn't mean nothin’. But Hen listened.

He'd better get it out of his system before Merle showed up.

It wasn’t just that Daryl liked being out in the woods. No, he _needed_ it. Call of birds. Sunlight filtering through the canopy. The sounds the wind made up high in the tree tops and down below in the leaves and grasses, the songs of water, knowing where and when you were by what was blooming. 

He felt like there was more to him.

He could feel it, something settled in his blood out here. 

Well, when he was alone at least.

Daryl exhaled in aggravation. 

Hen stopped short and said, “Look. I know how to creep through a house and castle silently, but the woods is different. You're like, _unnaturally_ silent. You either need to share your secrets or give your scowl a rest before you burn a hole in me or something.”

Daryl had his thinking scowl on.

“Look, I appreciate that you aren't swearing at me,” Hen said.

Daryl deflated and muttered, “Said I was sorry.”

“No, you didn't. You acknowledged you were an arsehole.”

Daryl pulled his shoulders back, fixing for a comeback.

“If you'd actually apologized with _words…”_ Hen trailed off into a laugh.

“Never had to teach no one before.”

“Well, clearly I'm doing it all wrong.”

“Merle and my Daddy taught me.” Daryl scowled so hard he probably wouldn't have been surprised if the leaves had started to smoke. ”Ain't teachin’ ya like that!” Then softer, “Don't know how else to.”

“Okay. Slow down and tell me what you're thinking and doing and why.”

Daryl grumbled.

“Please.”

_Damn those big green eyes._

“Fine.”

“Maybe you can start with telling me what you want me to learn, like maybe overall and then maybe the steps?”

“Hmmm.”

“Like you want me to learn to track—animals?”

“Animals and people.”

“And to do it silently?”

“Scare ‘em off, defeats the purpose.”

“But what else?”

“See the tracks. What made it, how long ago. The weather.”

“Huh?”

“Was it a coyote or a dog? Was it a man or a kid? Was they barefoot or wearin’ shoes? What kinda shoes? New or old? Was the track made before or after the dew falls?

They kept trackin’. Hen was paying attention and Daryl reckoned now that he was starting to understand where to step and why, he was the quietest he'd been. Daryl snorted. Kid still had a long ways to go.

Finally they caught up to the deer. Daryl motioned for the kid to take the shot, but Hen let his rifle drop and squared his shoulders.

“I won't.”

“The hell?”

“I won't shoot a deer.”

Daryl said, “This ‘cause of Bambi or some shit?”

Harry asked, “Who’s Bambi?”

“That Disney movie with the deer.”

Harry gave him a look.

“Course ya ain't seen it.”

“I am not shooting a deer.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Daryl grumbled.

Hen cut him off, “Do you want to talk about what had you in such a mood yesterday morning?”

Daryl recoiled.

“Yeah well me neither.”

“Ya gotta eat.”

“Eh, I can starve. Wouldn't be the first time.”

Daryl stared at him, hard. Kid wasn't gonna budge. He could feel it. It was loud in his head, between Merle and his daddy. Daryl closed his eyes a minute to shut the noise out. 

He felt Hen lean into him. His shoulders dropped.

“Will you learn to dress it?”

“Huh?” Hen asked.

Daryl opened his eyes and looked down and said, “Butcher it up.”

“Yeah. Ok. You'll have to show me. I just don’t want to kill one.”

“A’ight.”

They walked on.

Daryl said, "You ain’t gotta kill it. Just don’t ever admit that shit to Merle."

"Ok."

"As long as ya don't let the meat go to waste, I reckon I can do the killin' for ya."

"Thanks, Daryl."

Daryl smirked. "You'll think thanks when it's time to tan the hide."

* * *

Harry found Sassafras lazing in the sun.

She lifted her head and hissed, _"Now what are you and nestmate kinking your coils over?"_

_"I wouldn't shoot a deer."_

_"Why?"_

_"My dad's other form was a stag and my patronus is a stag?"_

_"What’s a—"_ She wiggled her tail in emphasis.

Harry looked around for Daryl.

_"Your nestmate is in the box."_

_"Shed,"_ Harry corrected.

She gave him a _look._ He shrugged.

_"Show me. I will shield."_

Harry cast his patronus.

 _"Soul light,"_ she hissed.

Harry put his wand away. _"So you understand?"_

_"No."_

_"My dad was a stag!"_

_"Deer in the trees is meat on stick."_

_"I can't!"_

_"You are my hatchling. You think I would not bite other humans because you are my human?"_ She laughed. _"I will bite every human I choose."_

 _"I'm still not killing a deer."_

_"You and nestmate fighting? You should threaten to eat him. Works for me."_

_"No. Daryl will kill the deer for me."_

_"What will you kill for nestmate? The human?"_

_"What?! No! I'm not killing anyone!"_

_"He's your nestmate. Sometimes I wonder how you found your way out of your shell, you dud of a hatchling."_

_"I didn't hatch, you big bully!"_

_"You will see hatchling. Even if you walk away from good meat on a stick. We are not so different."_

Harry stomped off, muttering about massive snakes with massive delusions. As if he could threaten to eat Daryl. He was huge!


	25. Cherry Picking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go foraging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made it a point to get this finished today to wish you all a Happy New Year!

Daryl looked over his shoulder and said, “Come on. If you're gonna be a baby, ya can see how ya like spendin’ all your time foragin’ for calories.”

“You know,” Hen said in his sarcastic little shit voice, “I'm really glad you didn't decide to be a dick about it.”

Daryl elbowed him, but didn't quite manage to smother a little smile. He pointed down.

“Look it here. This here’s Purslane. It's got these quarter-inch-thick red stalks tipped with these round green kinda hefty lookin’ leaves. Spreads like a sumbitch, but ya can eat it, raw or cooked. But if you're gonna cook it, ya wanna cook the shit outta it. It's a little…lemony?”

“Raw, like in salads?”

“Yeah, you wanna mix it in with other stuff.” Daryl looked down at the plant and frowned, remembering what he'd read. “You can dry the seeds for a week, then roast ‘em and grind ‘em for flour.”

Hen made a face and said, “I'll just make sure we don't run out of flour…yeah?”

Daryl snorted. “Come on, help me pick it. We can pickle the stems while we're at it.”

Next time they stopped, Daryl nudged Hen and said, “See that clump of arrow-shaped leaves,” he traced his fingers along, “This here rosette? Sheep sorrel. It grows in patches ‘cause of the roots.”

“Why are some of the flowers greenish and the others yellowish?”

“One’s female flowers, the other's male. Dunno which is which, leaves all taste the same.”

* * *

Once they were done with the foraging lesson, they went back home and Harry made them salad with grilled cheese sandwiches. Daryl made a face at his sandwich, more of a slight twitch really, but this was one micro expression Harry could read loud and clear.

“Now what's wrong?”

“Like dill pickles with my grilled cheese,” Daryl grumbled.

But he looked a little shifty, so Harry pressed. “And?”

“Nothin’.” Daryl poked at his sandwich.

“And?”

“Like it cut on the diagonal.”

Harry sighed. “Duly noted.” Then he got a cheeky grin. We can try that other other McDonalds for a new Happy Meal toy and you can pick up your dill pickles at the grocery store.”

“Spoilt,” Daryl said with what was probably supposed to sound like disgust.”

“Yes,” Harry said, “You are.” 

And then Harry cackled at the look on Daryl’s face.

After they ate and cleaned up, Daryl pulled the big mixing bowl and some old plastic ice cream buckets out of the cabinets.

“Now what?” Harry asked.

“Gonna take the truck. More foragin’.”

“You think we'll find something?”

“Think?” Daryl scoffed. “I know when anything edible within five miles comes into ripeness.”

“Cool.”

They grabbed some more buckets and took the truck. 

* * *

It wasn't too long before they stopped down a lane. House was long gone, but some of the little orchard was still going.

Daryl pointed to a tree that was practically dripping with cherries. “See the way the limbs are pulled down. Heavy crop like this, can't hardly bear the weight.” Then he gave Hen a look. “These here are sour cherries. We’re gonna pick all we can reach. Robins and grackles’ll feast up top.”

They each took a bowl and got out of the truck. Daryl held his hand out against Hen’s arm to halt him. 

“Ya hear that? Sorta thin lisping cry? That's a cedar waxwing. Look it. See if ya can find ‘em. There won't just be one. Bet it'll be a flock.”

Hen looked around trying to place the call.

Daryl gave him a while, then pointed. “See? Brown, gray and yellow, kinda shiny and they got a little bandit mask over their eyes. And it looks like someone dropped red wax. See, just there on its wing.”

Hen sucked in a breath. “Pretty!”

Daryl gave a tiny smile, “Should see ‘em in the snow. Knock ya right out.”

They walked over to the tree and Hen picked some sour cherries and looked at them, and Daryl let him, because he's an asshole like that. He just gnawed on his lip, waiting. Sure enough, Hen popped one in his mouth.

The kid’s face was so hilarious, Daryl full-on laughed. Tongue looked like it wanted to crawl clean outta his mouth. Hen spit it out, and then kept spitting. Daryl was pert near bent over he was laughing so hard. Hen came over, looking mad as a wet hen, and then the little shit licked the side of Daryl’s face. 

That shocked him out of laughing for a good minute. “Sweaty redneck really tastes better than sour cherries?”

Hen still had his tongue hanging out, he shook his head. 

“You’re just compounding yer misery, kid.”

Hen stopped scraping his teeth over his tongue long enough to say, “You could warn a person.”

Daryl laughed. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Yes well, what’s that you say, payback’s a bitch?”

Daryl chuckled. He'd never forget that face.

Hen pulled out a cookie and stuffed it in his mouth.

“Hey! Don't ya go eatin’ my cookies!” Daryl protested.

 _“I_ made them. They're in _my_ pocket.”

“Don't go all little red hen on me now.”

Hen handed him a cookie before he could go and get any ideas about holding him upside down again.

They got back to picking and once they had picked all the cherries they could reach, kid looked like he thought he was done, _Shit. Guess again small fry._

Daryl said, “Hop on my back.”

“Huh?”

“Don't tell me ya ain't never had a piggyback ride.”

“Dare, I’ve never—”

Daryl held up his hand. “Fucksake. Climb up on the bumper of my truck.”

Hen looked confused. Daryl glared and pointed. “Now I’m gonna stand in front of you. You’re gonna put your legs around my waist and your arms around my neck.”

“Why?” Hen asked though he was already doing as he was told. For once.

“Hang on.” Daryl said, then he grinned and took off. Kid hung on. A shriek and then laughter. He ran around the truck twice, just to hear Hen laugh like that. 

Daryl stopped and said, “Whatcha causin’ such a ruckus up there for?”

Hen just tugged on his hair, but not hard or nothing.

Daryl said, “Now you’re going to climb up on my shoulders.”

“What? Why?”

“So you can reach higher.”

It took a bit, but Hen got up there with neither of them too much worse for wear. Sure as shit was funny though. They kept laughing. Daryl thought they liked to never get started picking again.

Once they were done picking and the kid was back on the ground and they had the truck loaded up, Hen asked, “Now what?”

“Stoppin’ at Miss Goldie’s. See if she wants a mess of cherries.”

Hen gave him a sassy little eyebrow raise.

Daryl played dumb.

The kid poked him. “And?”

“Maybe she'll learn ya how to make jam and put ‘em up.”

“I've never made jam.”

“Granny used to. It's mighty good.”

* * *

“Stay here a minute,” Daryl said, then he got out of the truck and went around the back of the 2-story house.

Harry watched out the window. The house looked old, well for America. The bottom was logs and the upper story was wood siding. There was a screened in porch below two dormer windows on the front. 

Daryl came back and said, “G’on let’s get all these inside. She'll tell ya what to do. Just remember ya don't talk.”

“What about you?”

“I gotta run to town.” He shook a slip of paper. “Gave me a list.”

They carried the first round of bowls and buckets full of cherries in. Daryl introduced them.

“This is Miss Goldie,” Daryl said, indicating the older lady with gray hair, almost gone white, braided in a crown on her head with wire rimmed glasses that in no way obscured the watery blue that were most certainly taking his measure.

Harry tried to straighten up.

Daryl looked down and frowned. “What ya squirmin’ for, she ain't gonna eat ya.”

Harry elbowed him and ducked his head just a bit.

“This here’s Hen. He's kin. He don't talk,” Daryl ruffled his hair and said, “but he's a quick learner.

“Nice to meet you,” she said.

Harry smiled and nodded at her. Daryl got back in his truck and Harry followed Miss Goldie in the back door and up the few steps on the left into the kitchen. She got him started washing the cherries and then next came stemming and pitting. He must have looked shocked when she pulled out a hairpin because she chuckled.

“No, it's not for your shaggy locks. You use it to get the stone out. See?” She showed him. She was really quick with that hairpin, Harry wasn't quite so smooth or fast, but he figured he had buckets and buckets of practice ahead of him.

Harry had lost all track of time, but Daryl finally returned with sacks of sugar, jam jars and lids, and freezer bags.

Miss Goldie turned her nose up at the freezer bags.

“Wasteful. You really ought to invest in some freezer containers.”

Daryl’s ears turned red.

“Couple more days and you boys can start picking my cherries out back.

Harry groaned.

Daryl said, “Ya haven't tasted her jam or pie yet. You'll be begging to pick those cherries.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. He wasn't sure anything tasted good enough to warrant all of this work. Then he snorted. He was getting spoiled if he thought he had the option of turning down hard work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know Happy New Year is a thing you can wish people in the comments?
> 
> I have a nice little hoard of tart cherry pie filling going. I should make a pie or at least cherry delight. This thing really needs an "attach dessert" button.


	26. Hen and Goldie Go to Costco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Goldie go to Costco because five pound sacks of flour are for amateurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm still alive! The lag in updating couldn’t be helped, January 2021 had other ideas. I still felt bad about it though. I hope you are all staying safe.
> 
> This was a little trip down memory lane from the Before Times. Remember when Costco had samples? My characters have OPINIONS, as always, feel free to disregard them.
> 
> Your friendly reminder that Daryl pronounces Perrier to rhyme with terrier.  
> 
> 
> Previously: _Harry wrinkled his nose. He wasn't sure anything tasted good enough to warrant all of this work. Then he snorted. He was getting spoiled if he thought he had the option of turning down hard work._

Boy was he wrong. Harry took another bite of the cherry pie. Merlin, was this amazing. And Goldie promised she would bake bread for when they tried the jam tomorrow. He couldn't wait. Harry eyed the pie plate.

“Don’t go makin’ yourself sick, Hen.” Daryl poked him. “Them big green eyes are bigger than your stomach.”

Harry stuck his lip out.

“If you boys are fixin’ to put up more than just cherries, we ought to get supplies at one of them warehouses,” Goldie said.

Harry perked up and nudged Daryl.

Daryl scowled at Harry, but asked, “Costco have what we need?”

Goldie narrowed her eyes. “Daryl Dixon, do you have a Costco card?”

“No ma'am.” But then he got that little devilish grin and said, “Kid's got one.”

“How about we take a little trip, young man?” she asked Harry.

Harry looked to Daryl.

“Go on. Got some things I need to take care of. Get ya outta my hair.”

Harry stuck his tongue out at Daryl, but then he turned and smiled at Goldie and nodded.

* * *

Goldie drove what Daryl called a land yacht. A big old gas guzzler of an Oldsmobile. It was gray with a red interior and freaking huge. It took Harry two hands to pull the door shut. Goldie tied a floral silk scarf over her hair, checking her work in the rearview mirror. She looked over and asked, “You have any idea where we're going?”

Harry shook his head no.

She blew out a clearly disapproving breath. 

“Which way’s East?”

He shrugged. He had no idea.

She made a displeased _hmm._ Harry could just tell, he was in for it. Thus began the Great Navigation and Finding One’s Way Lesson: Part The First.

* * *

Goldie shut the car off, then she removed her scarf and applied lipstick in the rear view mirror. Once she met her own approval, she pulled out an old envelope with words neatly written down the backside. “Got my list. You got your Costco card?”

Harry held it up.

“And your money?”

Harry nodded.

“Now, I've never been here, so—” she raised her eyebrows — “you'll lead the way?”

Harry smiled and nodded. They got their cart, and then Harry showed the member card to gain entrance. Goldie didn't look too impressed with the items on display up front. Harry held out his hand for the list while she looked over the display of large pool toys with some pretty serious contempt. He figured they should get the big heavy things first, so he made a beeline for the baking aisle. Except he only got like twenty feet because there were samples. First was some sort of chocolate-covered coconut…thing. Goldie got them both little paper cups and thanked the lady handing them out. They made eye contact—Harry kind of missed Daryl saying, _“Onacountathree”—_ and took a bite and then they both made yuck faces.

“Not even chocolate could save that,” she grumbled.

Harry laughed and took Goldie’s cup to throw it away along with his. Then came oat bars in a green wrapper. Goldie’s comment on those was, “Maybe if I was a horse.”

Harry cracked up. He couldn't wait for the next sample. This time the little white paper cups held chocolate-covered cranberries. They each popped them in their mouths and Goldie’s blue eyes lit up. 

“Yes sirree,” she said and put a package in the cart.

She wrinkled up her nose in suspicion at the quinoa, not unlike Daryl, but she tried it and pronounced it as ‘just fine.’ They could not figure out the point of the little packages of individually wrapped pancakes, but they ate their samples. 

Once they were out of ear shot, she grumbled, “The hell’s wrong with people? Can't make a damn pancake.” She patted his arm to signal him to stop. “You know how to make pancakes, Henry?”

He nodded.

“And I ain't talking about no mix. I mean with flour and sugar.”

He nodded again.

“Well, I'm glad ya know more about cooking breakfast than you do about finding your way. Now which way’s East?”

He gave a hopeful grimace and pointed to his right.

She just shook her head in disappointment. 

“At least ya got enough sense not to buy pre-made pancakes.”

They finally got to the baking aisle and Harry went straight to the bags of flour even though Goldie wanted to look at the oils. 

She said, “Hold your horses, I’m lookin’.”

He shrugged and looked between the bags of flour, trying to decide. Goldie came down the aisle and looked them over too. 

“Can't decide?”

He nodded.

“Ya like eatin’ bleach?”

He made a horrified face.

“Get the unbleached one. Don't go blabbin’, folks get bent outta shape about their flour. But my great uncle, he worked at an old-time mill, up North, he said, ‘the whiter the bread, the sooner you're dead.’”

Harry pointed to the smaller bag of whole wheat flour, it was only 25 pounds. He raised his eyebrows in question.

She looked him over, and asked,“You doing some of the cooking and baking?”

Harry nodded.

“I reckon you'll have to be stealthy and work it in a little at a time. With the dishes Daryl’s familiar with at least. Don’t reckon you can get much past that one.”

Harry stood the 50 pound all-purpose and 25 pound whole wheat flour sacks up in the cart. Then he put in a 50 pound sack of granulated sugar. 

“The whole wheat’s gonna go off quicker. Probably oughta refrigerate or freeze some of that. Sure you don't wanna just pick up a five pounder?”

Harry shook his head now and eyed the sacks in front of him, deciding.

When he went to lift a 25 pound sack of brown sugar, she said, “What in the Sam Hill are you doing with all that brown sugar?”

Harry shrugged, but then put it in their cart. Daryl liked his cookies. Besides, it would keep.

A pound of yeast, a 4.5 bag of chocolate chips, all kinds of nuts, and a variety of spices, 

They backtracked through the shelf stable items.

Goldie held out her hand for him to wait. She looked him over. “Is this your money you're spending or is it Daryl’s?”

He crossed his arms and glared and jabbed his chest with his thumb. 

She held her hands up in peace. “All right. Just checking. If it's yours, I reckon you can spend it as you please. I just don't wanna hear no bellyachin’ when you trot home with 275 pounds of baking supplies.”

Harry snorted. There was always bellyaching. That was a given.

“Daryl’s a growing boy, but even he can’t eat that much.”

Harry snorted again. She hadn’t seen how fast those cookies disappear. 

They worked their way down to the refrigerated section.

“8 pounds of butter. Really,” she said.

Harry considered sticking his tongue out.

“Daryl might let you get away with that nonsense, but don't think I can't take you over my knee and paddle your behind.”

Harry opted for batting his eyelashes instead. 

“Un uh. That won't work on me neither. Save that for when you get home. That boy’s soft.”

Harry turned on her like a mother tiger

“Now, not like that. Ain’t a slur like that Merle would say it. But you've seen it. That boy has always been the sweet one. No matter how much they tried to sour him.”

Harry looked her over.

“Save those big green eyes for Daryl. I'm naturally sour, they won't work on me.”

Harry nodded once and made his way down the dairy aisle.

“I didn't know sour cream came in such a big container. Guess I see why you brought those coolers.”

Milk. A quart of cream. Eggs. Four pounds of Bacon. Breakfast sausage. All kinds of cheese.

“You know how to make biscuits and gravy?”

Harry nodded.

She huffed. “I’d like to see it.”

He laughed and then she did too. 

When she caught him looking at the end case, she said, “I will paddle your behind if you even think about buying pie crust,” 

He pointed to the crescent rolls next to them in question.

“No. You got 75 pounds of flour and 8 pounds of butter. You can learn how to make yeast rolls I reckon. Croissants too.”

Harry shrugged and pushed their cart toward the paper goods.

“Freezer last?” She asked.

He nodded. 

“Good boy.”

He made sure he was facing away from her when he rolled his eyes. She flicked him on the shoulder, but not too hard.

“None of that.”

He snorted.

“Just ‘cause you can't talk don't mean I can't tell when you're sassin’ me.”

Harry chuckled and walked on down to the drinks aisle. He stood looking at the bottled water. She looked at him like he was crazy. He got a case of Perrier and put it down below under the cart’s basket. She could just keep shaking her head. 

* * *

“Oh, you're a baker all right. I saw your judgmental looks when we walked down the bakery aisle. What'd those cookies ever do to you?”

He pointed to the price tag on the banana bread. She scoffed.

“The day I pay $12 for banana bread’s the day they lock me in the looney bin.”

The last sample was some sort of fancy chocolate cake. The lady handing out the samples was very chatty. And when she asked Goldie how she liked the cake, Goldie said, “I’d say this is a very fine chocolate cake.”

Then she steered Harry away and once they were out of earshot, she continued, “If I didn’t know no better and thought store-boughten cake was fit to eat. And maybe if I’d only read about chocolate in a book.”

It was all Harry could do to keep from scolding with a hissed “Miss Goldie!” He laughed so hard she asked him if she needed to pound him on the back because he was choking or something.

They paid, got their receipt marked at the door, and emerged out into the bright Georgia sun and heat.

“Which way’s East?”

Harry pointed to his left.

“Atta boy!” 

They went to the car and Harry studied the cavernous trunk before he started loading it.

“You're sure all of this is going to fit in your fridge?”

Harry nodded vehemently. And if not, it would definitely fit in his rucksack. 

She crossed her arms and did that thing where she sized him up. Harry figured she could probably give a tailor his measurements by now with the way she kept looking him over. And apparently finding him lacking.

“I don't know what branch of Dixon you come from that you don't bat an eye at spending $227 cash on groceries, but…I can't imagine Daryl’s gonna know what to think of all of this. And you best not let Merle know you got even a five dollar bill in your pocket. That boy is bad news.” She lifted her hand. “It's hard to help when you got a daddy like that. May he burn in hell for all eternity.” She spat on the ground. “But he's still bad news.”

Harry shrugged.

“Now tell me how to get back to the highway.”

Harry’s mouth fell open.

“I know you don't talk, but you can still point. Hop to it.”

They made it back to Goldie’s and Harry had actually remembered a few of the landmarks. Goldie was by no means pleased, but she pronounced his return trip navigational efforts as ‘slightly less terrible.’

* * *

They were all back at Goldie’s, eating some more sour cherry pie.

Goldie said to Daryl, “And then he spent _fifteen_ dollars on fancy water.”

“You listen here,” Daryl growled. “I told him to drink that when he gets sick. Settle his stomach. So don't ya go pickin’ on him about it.”

“He puny?” she asked.

“'s not a bug.”

“Well?”

“Kid has nightmares. Sometimes they make him sick to his stomach. Mama"—Daryl stabbed at the crust with his fork like he was busy eating instead of taking _a fucking moment_ like a baby—“I ‘membered Mama givin’ me warm 7-up a couple of times. Didn't have none, but he came with a couple of bottles of Perrier, so we tried that.”

“Well,” she said, “I’m still gonna laugh about $15 on water.”

He scoffed. “Like anything could stop you.”

She muttered, “Mama bear protecting her cub might.”

He gave her a confused look.

She shook her head, and said, “Must be some mighty tasty water.”

He laughed. “I’ll be sure to have Hen bring ya a bottle.”

Just as long as Daryl was there to see her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In lieu of chocolate-covered cranberries, leave a comment or a :) It's nice to know you're out there.


	27. Henny Hen Hen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein we find out what Daryl was up to while Harry was at Costco.
> 
> ~or~ 
> 
> No good deed goes unpunished, Daryl Dixon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy your installment of cuddly feels. I got it here as soon as I could.

It was past time they headed home, so Daryl tucked Hen into his old truck and bade Miss Goldie goodnight. Before he turned the key, he looked over at Hen. Kid was plumb tuckered and stuffed full of pie. 

“Ya better not conk out in the twenty seconds it takes to get home. I’m not carrying your scrawny ass in the house.”

Hen just batted them big green eyes real slow like and gave a great big yawn with that little squeak at the end, and said, “I’m not tired.”

Daryl snorted and put the truck in gear and started home.

Hen rubbed his eyes and asked, “Where'd you go today?”

“What makes ya think I went anywhere?”

“You’ve got shite on your trousers.”

Daryl raised an eyebrow.

Hen took a big ol’ dramatic whiff of the air in the cab.

 _“Fine._ You’ve got shite-colored paint all over your trousers.”

Daryl grunted. “Ol’ Man Merryweather wanted his tool shed painted. Gonna take whatever day jobs I can get while you’re busy with Miss Goldie.”

“Day jobs?”

“Ain't no one wanna take on a Dixon full-time.” Daryl scowled. It wasn't unwarranted, but now that he had Hen to look after, it was galling. “But sometimes folks’ll hire me for day labor or a short term job. Somethin’ even a Dixon can't fuck up. Like balin’ hay. Choppin’ wood. I do the work, I get paid. Don't always pay in cash, but it’s always under the table.”

At Hen’s questioning eyebrow, Daryl clarified, “Tax man can’t trace it.”

Hen looked perplexed. “What else do they pay you in?”

“Kinda hard to pay the ‘lectric bill with chickens.”

“He paid you in _chickens?!”_

Daryl's shoulders hunched up before he could stop them like a damned dog expecting to get kicked. He shook it off. “Ya said ya wanted to learn how to make chicken and dumplins, ya need a chicken. Figured Miss Goldie can learn ya how to make noodles too while she’s at it. Put the rest up in the freezer I reckon. I got a ham comin’ once it's done in the smokehouse.”

“We have chickens?” Hen’s face lit up.

 _Goddamnit._ “To _eat._ Them chickens is to eat,” Daryl said real sternlike.

He hadn't even gotten the truck shut off before Hen was hopping out and running to see the chickens.

Daryl stomped over. He had a good idea of where this was going. Hen was already squatted down cooing and trying to make friends.

“They ain't puppies,” Daryl grumbled. 

Hen looked over his shoulder lickety split and asked all hopeful, “Can we get a puppy?”

“Hell no, we ain't gettin’ no puppy,” Daryl said, though he had always wanted a dog. But nothing living lasted long around Will Dixon, well, humans were a some times exception.

But Hen’s voice pulled him out of those dark thoughts.

“You look like an Elsie.”

Damned if he wasn't cozying up to the Dominque. Like she was capable of conversation and not just some dumbass bird.

“Don't go namin’ your dinner,” Daryl said.

“Don't you listen to the mean man, Elsie,” Hen said. “Aren't you a pretty bird!”

 _Jesus Christ._ He’d already picked the barred thing up and was petting it. Cooing at it.

 _Goddamn them big ol’ green eyes._ They was locked on him and just a pleading.

“Can't we keep them for eggs? Please, Dare?”

Daryl didn't even open his mouth. It was no goddamn use. He just stomped off.

“Goddamnit. Now I gotta build a coop or somethin’ to keep ‘em from gettin’ ate up. Your snake better not go feastin’ on them hens, Henny.”

Daryl sure had named him right. Kid about squawked like a hen when Daryl got him just right.

Well, at least they’d have eggs.

Daryl called over his shoulder, “Ain’t gettin’ a rooster. Those fuckers are mean.”

Once Daryl had the chickens squared away good enough for the night and he'd got Hen to quit trying to befriend the damned things, he shooed the kid into the house. But before he could get to the fridge to crack open a cold one, Hen was practically tackling him, “Dare! You got me chickens!”

Daryl flinched at the contact like he always did, but he stood there like the awkward miserable bastard he was, waiting the hug out. And waiting, but instead of letting up, Hen just squeezed him tighter. Daryl just gave a confused grunt and then a couple of awkward gentle pats with the flat of his hand against the kid’s shoulder.

Then Hen loosened his grip a bit and Daryl thought _Thank God,_ but then them big ol’ green eyes were staring up at him. _Aw hell._ Looking all teary-eyed and shit. _Fuck me. Now what?!_

“My very first friend was a snowy owl. Hedwig. I miss her!” Then he got that determined look, “Promise me, Dare. Promise me you'll never shoot an owl.”

“Why the hell ya think I'm gonna go killin’ an owl?” 

“Just promise me. Please?”

“Fine. I won't go killin’ no owls. But ya owe me. And I'm not wastin’ it on waffles.”

“Fine. Fine. I owe you.”

The little shit was herding him toward the bathroom.

“I just want a damn beer,” Daryl grumbled. 

“No sir,” Hen declared. “Shower first. Otherwise you're going to start drinking a beer and the next thing I know, you'll be welded to the couch and you're too big to lift and too grumpy to drag.”

Daryl smirked and squeezed Hen’s biceps. “Puny.”

Hen poked him hard in the ribs with a knuckle, but Daryl just laughed.

“Arse.”

“Ya missed,” Daryl said, but then he skedaddled into the bathroom before Hen’s hand could connect with his smart ass.

Daryl turned on the water. Instead of fixating on how much he loathed bathing, he started wondering whether Hen had any cookies left. He didn't see how he’d have had time to make any today, what with the trip to Costco and all.

Daryl came out dressed in an old pair of sleep pants and an even older t-shirt. He forgot all about his beer. The little shit was up to something. He could just tell it. Hen was looking far too innocent and no one was that interested in a cooking magazine.

“The hell is that?” Daryl asked, nodding toward the liquor crate coffee table.

“Hmm?” Hen said without looking up.

Oh the little shit was looking all right, but he was pretending like his whole attention was on that magazine page. 

Daryl ignored the coffee table and sat down right next to Hen. He leaned over and made sure he ran the scruff on his chin over Hen’s ear a good couple of times before he rumbled in that deep gravely tone that always made the kid extra squirmy, “I sense a trap.”

Hen kept staring at his magazine, but a giggle slipped out, try as he might to contain it.

“Whatcha up to, ya little shit?” Daryl asked, running his chin along the nape of Hen’s neck. He was going to start in on tickling next. 

Hen elbowed him real good. “I got you a present, you brute.”

Daryl frowned. _He hadn't manhandled him at all yet._

“Fine, I got you a present, you provider of poultry.”

Daryl was confused. _A present?_

Hen nudged him. “Go on, I know you saw it.”

“A what?” Daryl could feel his eyebrows all drawn up like he was trying to work out a puzzle.

Then the kid got this weird look like he was seeing something and it made him a little sad. 

But before Daryl could fall back on being a dick and picking a fight which was always his go to move when…well, on most occasions really, Hen smiled and said, “Go on. I know you'll like it. But if you don't, I'll be happy to keep it all for myself.” And then the kid was lunging and Daryl snatched him up out of reflex. 

He tucked him right up under his arm, so he wasn't going nowhere. Then with his left hand he grabbed the glass dish before the kid could wriggle loose and make a grab for it again. Daryl knew what it was as soon as he'd seen it. It was a candy dish. His Granny had had one when he was real small. He knew what it was, he just couldn't figure out _why._ He sat there looking at it until the kid gave an impatient wobble and huffed.

“Open it already!”

“That's enough out of you,” Daryl said out of habit, but gave him a gentle squeeze so the kid knew he wasn't being mean about it.

Daryl removed the knobbly lid and set it down on the couch so it would be safe. Then he fished out one of the little wrapped things and held it up. 

“Belgian chocolate minis?”

“I laughed as soon as I saw them. I figured you'd like something from the country of fine cuisine that wasn't some weirdo vegetable.”

Daryl had the first one unwrapped and stuffed in his mouth.

“Plus you have a sweet tooth,” Hen said.

“Do not,” Daryl denied out of reflex, mouthful of chocolate be damned.

Hen just laughed.

Daryl rolled his eyes, but kept unwrapping. These little fuckers were good. Hen laughed and snuggled into his side. Daryl looked down, suspicious.

“Whatcha want?” he demanded.

Hen just shook his head. “I just wanted to get you something.”

Daryl frowned. Merle had given him his crossbow, but that was so he could hunt food so he wouldn't starve. Daryl eyed the chocolate suspiciously. 

Hen sighed in exasperation. “Fine. You caught me, Mr. GrumpyPants. My wily ulterior motive in providing you this fine chocolate was to catch that most elusive smile.”

Daryl scowled. “Didn't.”

Hen thumped him on the elbow. “You did, for an entire half second before you got all suspicious.”

“Hmmm.”

“You did. I saw it and you can't take it back. There was a half second of sheer delight.”

Daryl glowered at the kid until he laughed, then he stuffed a mini in Hen’s mouth. That'd shut him up. 

After he'd eaten it, Hen said, “I can't believe you shared!”

Daryl was affronted. “When the hell have I ever not shared one goddamn thing with you?”

“Oh, Dare. You always share with me, but this is yours. I got it for you. I didn't expect you to share it with me.”

“Hmmmph.”

Then Hen giggled and said, “Thanks for unwrapping it first.”

Daryl didn't know what to do, so he poked at the kid’s ribs until he was all giggling and wiggling and half falling off the couch. Then he eased up and the kid was half flopped across him and still breathing kinda heavy with that tired happy smile he sometimes got.

“Thanks for the present,” Daryl said.

Hen hugged him and Daryl made a disgusted sound, so the kid just hugged him harder. 

Later in bed. Daryl realized he never did get that beer. 


	28. Pantry Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl discovers Hen's Costco purchases.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Zephyrfox for chatting about story things and for sharing an amazing idea I totally neglected to make use of.
> 
> Parseltongue is italicized, and chickenspeak is underlined.

Early the next morning, Daryl stood barefoot in the little side room off the back door, mouth hanging open like some kind of stunned fish. He was fixin’ to yell. No, he was fixin’ to throw a goddamn fit. Wrap his hands around that scrawny neck. Had a mind to kick something, but he knew he'd just break a toe.

That book said he was supposed to count, but counting was just going to piss him off more. He spun around, grabbed his boots, and got the hell out of that house.

Manual labor wasn’t gonna cut it. Usually he’d have fled into the woods, but damned if he was gonna go that far. Even if he was so mad he couldn’t see straight. He got his ass over and up into that old rock chestnut oak, climbed up higher than he oughta. 

Daryl Dixon had a temper. Hell, all the Dixons did. But he’d be damned if he stole that kid just to drag him home and tower over him screaming. Fuck if he wasn't madder than hell though. What the hell had been going through the kid’s mind? Well, that was just it. Who the fuck knew? What possessed someone to buy a 50 pound bag of flour? 75 pounds of sugar? You'd need to have a damned bakery. And cases of canned goods. And who the fuck _bought_ chicken stock? Well, some little asshole who named his dinner, that’s who. Who the fuck would ever need that much toothpaste? _Fucking fuck._

It’s like he had stolen himself a mini prepper. Kid acted like he was afraid he was gonna run out of food. Like he couldn't just run down to the Piggly Wiggly for a sack of sugar. _Oh._

Daryl cracked his head back against the tree trunk. Could feel those big old rough ridges dig into his scalp. Course the kid was buying food like he was afraid of starving. He was _hoarding._ And fuck if Daryl could blame him, now that he realized what was probably going on. How could the kid think for a second that Daryl would ever let him starve? But Daryl thought about it for a good long while. The kid surely _knew_ Daryl wouldn't let him starve, like he _knew_ Daryl wasn't ever going to beat him. Even though Daryl was like a hawk, watching himself, waiting for the slip where the Dixon blood showed itself, when his daddy started showing in him. Daryl didn't _know,_ but the kid sure seemed to. He kept thinking. He finally figured it must be like the way Daryl _knew_ Hen wouldn't, hell _couldn't_ physically hurt him, but hell if that kept Daryl from flinching away from touch he wasn't the one initiating. Even if Hen _knew_ he wasn't ever going to starve again, something in him was screaming it was coming. Fuck if Daryl couldn't relate to that on a bone-deep level.

Daryl snorted in self disgust and muttered, “We’re a right pair.”

He got down out of the tree and headed back to the house. He wanted his goddamn coffee. And he was hungry. And maybe he wanted to check on the kid. Roughhouse him a little. It wasn't hugging if you was wrestling.

* * *

Hen had his eyebrows all up in that unruly black mop of his, like he was asking where the hell Daryl had been. Daryl just shrugged his shoulder a bit. Hen shrugged both and handed him his mug of coffee.

Daryl nodded his thanks.

“I’m making waffles?” Hen said.

Daryl’s lips turned up involuntarily. _Man, he loved those waffles._ He nodded. Kid was looking all twitchy.

“C’mere,” Daryl said.

Hen looked confused, but he came over. He sure squeaked when Daryl grabbed a hold of him. He pulled him to him and tucked Hen’s head under his chin. _Maybe it'd be less awkward without eye contact?_

“Ya know, I ain't ever gonna let ya starve?”

“Yes, I—”

Daryl cut him off, “Just wanted to make sure. House could get demolished in a tornado and I'd still be able to keep ya fed out of these woods. Hell, _you're_ gonna be able to keep yourself fed out of these woods.”

Hen burrowed his face into his chest and squeezed him tight. “I know.”

Daryl squeezed him back, for just a bit, then let go. “G’on, get those waffles on.”

After they cleaned up, they’d go through and make sure to store things properly so they didn't wind up with weevils in all that flour and shit. 

* * *

Much later that afternoon after more shooting practice, Harry found Sassafras sunning herself on a rock and watching the chickens. Scratch that. Muttering about the stupid, stupid chickens.

 _“Why are they stupid?”_ he hissed.

 _“Corn. Corn. Corn. Corn. Corn. Ooh! fat bug!”_ she mocked.

_“You can understand them?”_

_“Of course I can. You can’t?”_

_“No.”_

_“You’re not missing much.”_

_“Can they understand you?”_

_“Why would I bother?”_

_“Why would you not?”_

Sassafras, with as much mocking disdain as any petulant teenager, clucked, “Corn. Corn. Corn. Ooh! fat bug!”

Elsie ran over clucking, “Ooh! fat bug?” “Ooh! fat bug?”

Sassafras hissed, _“You'd better find her a fat bug.”_

 _“Accio fat bug.”_ A very fat bug flew into his hand.

Harry held his hand out for Elsie and clucked, “Ooh! fat bug!” as best he could.

"Ooh! fat bug!” _she clucked._

Then _all_ the chickens came over clucking for fat bugs and Sassafras _laughed_ at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you have a good weekend. <3


	29. Soft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry did not leave his temper behind at Hogwarts and Daryl, well, Daryl is a kicked puppy cinnamon roll with abandonment issues. But Miss Goldie is always in fine form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These boys. Stewing in their feels was taking FOREVER. It was like the slowest cooker. 
> 
> But the great news is I FINALLY MADE WAFFLES!!!

Sometimes—Daryl figured it was the nightmares—Hen would wake up surly and mad at everything, and Daryl kicked himself for stealing a teenager.

He just drug his angry ass outside quick as he could—that house was made for feeding flames of fury, not damping down—see how long the kid could hold onto the contained explosion of his temper in the face of the air and the light and the sheer green aliveness. Turned out some days it was a good long while. 

_Ah. Self loathing._ Daryl knew a thing or six about that. 

But no matter how angry and hopeless and useless, it would burn off, blow over and the kid would be back to cooking, to grinning that shit eating grin when he hit the bullseye, to headbutting him for pets and slipping him cookies and cold toes burrowing into his thigh on the couch.

They sure talked up a mother’s embrace in some of that shit he had to read for school. And he hadn’t ever known that, not really. But he had the woods—and he reckoned that that peace and space he could settle was as close as he was (ever) going to get. He did the best he could with what he could get.

* * *

The Merle in his head was always an asshole, but he would not _shut up_ about the kid being _soft._ Worse was when his daddy’s voice mixed in.

Daryl doubted. So many things. But not his aim and not his tracking and not his abilities in the woods. And he wished Hen was something he didn't doubt. But he did, most times. Some times. (And Merle sure wasn't fucking helping.) He didn't doubt stealing him. That was sudden and sure. (He felt that in his bones.) And he didn't doubt his need to protect, but sometimes his ability to. Daryl watched. And sometimes he could read the kid. And sometimes he couldn't. But he watched and noticed and kept trying to fit the pieces together. 

He didn't doubt that he was going to fuck up. That was a certainty. But he _knew_ even as fucked up as he was, even with the very little he had to offer, Hen was better off here. He was fed, and he was safe and even with the nightmares and the moody bullshit—and wasn't that something, _Daryl_ calling someone moody—the kid was well, _happy_ here, more often than not. Hen had years of being angry and scared (and wanting) and helpless, it had to come out sometime. Daryl knew how that was. 

He just had to keep the kid fed and safe. 

For as long as he had him.

But Merle in his head would not fucking shut up about the kid being _soft._ It turned his stomach to hear Merle telling him to toughen him up. He _wouldn't._ But still. He doubted.

* * *

A finger poked his nose. Daryl snapped at it, but got air. Even as his teeth clacked shut, he didn’t mean it.

“What has you stewing?” Hen asked.

“Nothin’.”

The kid cuddled in, then said, “Worrying about something.”

“Ain't.”

“Hmmm.” 

Then Hen did that thing with his thumbs along the back of his head and he pert near melted into the damn bed.

“Nghh." 

“Well?” Hen asked.

“Thinkin’ you're too soft,” Daryl muttered.

Hen pulled his head away from Daryl's chest and said, _“Excuse me?”_

“Too soft for survivin’.”

Hen laughed, but it sounded bitter. “You're an idiot.”

Daryl scowled.

“I'm not going to kill an animal to prove I'm tough.” Then a dark look crossed Hen’s face. “Of course if it's dangerous, I have and I will. But not an animal I'm friendly or have an affinity with.”

Daryl tried to explain, “You don't know what it's like ‘round here. These people.”

“You've been teaching me skills. Clearly I _want_ to learn.” Then green eyes blazing, he said, “You have no fucking idea. I'm not soft. Whatever that is.”

The voice was still loud. _Fucking Merle._

Hen sounded more than a little mad. “Where is this coming from?”

_Should have kept my goddamn mouth shut._

“Merle.”

“Huh?”

“His voice in my head. And my Daddy’s.”

“You should never listen to _anything_ those arseholes have to say.” Hen was sitting up now.

Daryl shut his eyes and grumbled. _Easy for you to say._

“What else?” Hen asked.

Daryl cracked open an eye. “Huh?”

“What else does he say besides I'm soft?”

“Need to toughen up.”

“You're an idiot.” Hen was out of bed and furiously buttoning his shirt. “I’ve been beaten, starved, tortured, had friends and family murdered in front of me, I’ve lost count of the times I was in mortal peril. What in the ever loving fuck are you possibly going to do to toughen me up, Daryl Dixon?” 

Hen threw on his jeans, and grabbed his rucksack.

Daryl’s voice stopped him, he hated how small it sounded. “Ya leavin’?”

“I’m going to help Miss Goldie,” but he was so angry, he sneered, “If she's got any pointers on torture, I'll be sure to let you know.”

Hen slammed the door. It echoed.

* * *

Harry settled down just enough to feed the chickens because _chickens,_ but then he was raging again and he stomped down the gravel road toward Miss Goldie’s. Daryl would have said he was madder than a wet hen. Daryl could fuck right off.

He saw Goldie out front with her draw hoe. Probably thinking about putting in her 8th garden or something. She had more little patches of this and that than Harry had ever considered possible or at least sensible. She stood there with her arms crossed, watching him stomp down the road and up her lane. It was maybe a teensy bit ridiculous with an audience, he supposed, but he was angry. She looked him over.

“What's got a bee in your bonnet?”

Harry jerked his head toward home.

“Ain’t coming in my house with a face full of storm clouds.” But then she sighed and said, “I'll get my keys and pocketbook.” She called back over her shoulder “D’jeet?”

He shook his head _no_ even though she wasn't looking.

“Not like it matters. That boy needs to feed ya up.”

She came back with a muffin for him.

 _Mmm Raisin Bran._ He gobbled it up and brushed the crumbs off his hands.

“Get in the car, kid, and roll down the window.”

At his questioning brow, she clarified, “That cloud of nasty feelings swirling around your head like smoke. The wind can whisk that mess away. Don't need it stinking up the upholstery.”

She checked her mirrors even though she was the only one who ever drove her car and then looked over and asked, “You ready for an adventure?”

Harry snorted. He didn't think Miss Goldie had anything on a Hungarian Horntail or a mountain troll, but sure. Why not? He gave her a thumbs up.

After a while, she said, “I’m gonna learn ya about yard sales. We gotta drive a ways, out to where the people got more money than sense. Ya ain't gotta buy nothing. Figured there might be something you could use for the house though.”

Harry doubted it. He had taken _everything_ from the cabin, but he supposed it wouldn't hurt to have a look.

* * *

“Oh,” Miss Goldie said, “Feel this here chair. _Soft._ It's like velvet. _”_

Harry ran his fingers over it. Not only could he feel the _look_ in his eye, even Miss Goldie could see it.

“Oh, I see that look. Little devil. You're up to no good with that look, you are.”

Harry went for his best innocent face.

She held up her hands and said, “It's your money.”

Harry petted the gorgeous dark blue velvet chair. It was super comfy too. He just bet Daryl would _hate_ it.

The lady who owned the big fancy house was giving him dirty looks. _Sheesh. I’m only petting the chair, not licking it._ He pointed to the chair and held up his billfold. _Well, turns out she wants the money more than she wants to be snooty._

Once she'd seen that yes, he had the money. And, “Oh, you poor thing, you can't talk?”, Harry thought, _Well, fuck it_ and turned up the puppy dog eyes. Merlin knew what other soft things this lady had laying around. He doubted the magnificent chair was the only soft thing he could annoy the ever living shite out of Daryl with.

When she asked if he needed anything else, he nodded all big eyes and quivering lip and she got this determined half fierce, half teary-eyed look on her face and took his hand— _Ick! Abort! Abort!—_ and drug him to a table in the back. 

“Do you need curtains?” she asked. 

_Do we need curtains?_

“Look at these pretty little white eyelet ones. I bought them for my kitchen, but then we decided to remodel, and look, they're brand new!”

They _were_ pretty. And they didn’t have curtains. He bet Daryl would _hate_ them. He beamed at the lady. 

“We’ll just start you a little stack, sweetheart. My name’s Miss Jenny, I'm going to fix you right up.”

The next best thing was some fancy grey blanket. All Harry knew was it was _super_ soft. 

“This was my favorite throw, but it doesn’t match my family room anymore.”

He rubbed it against his face. _Lady, you’re an idiot. Who cares if it matches?! This feels like heaven._ But he nodded somberly and hugged it to him possessively. She grinned and then added it to his pile. 

“You have a good eye for fine things.”

Harry was going to have quite the comfy _soft_ nest and Daryl could have the lumpy ancient couch all to himself. Miss Goldie came over and eyed his mountain of treasures with skepticism. He took the grey blanket and rubbed it against her cheek. She huffed out air. 

“Ya little snot. Get that offa me.”

He pulled it back and raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, it sure is soft. I don't know what that boy did to get you on the warpath, but he's lucky you lean toward interior decorating instead of shooting the place up or tearing it down.”

He pointed at the tool in her hand.

She held it up and said, “It’s an old fashioned egg beater.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“For when your electric’s shut off.”

 _Oh. Daryl said that was a problem._ Harry nodded and added it to his pile.

“Oh!” Miss Jenny said, “Do you like antique kitchen things?”

Miss Goldie huffed out _“Antique.”_

Harry nodded. Clearly he'd unleashed a monster.

And then they were off again.

Miss Goldie looked over the box of antique kitchen utensils with a critical eye. She finally said, “It’s better than any of the new stuff you can buy.”

When she saw the set of cast iron she gave Miss Jenny a disgusted look. 

Miss Jenny straightened her pearls and said like she was admitting to poisoning someone, “We have to eat low fat now. Doctor’s orders.”

“He’ll take the set,” Miss Goldie said.

Harry knew better than to sass Miss Goldie. _Looks like I have a set of cast iron._

“Oh that's not nearly all of it,” Miss Jenny said, “Follow me.”

 _Looks like I’m getting a_ **_collection_ ** _of cast iron._

“You're young, Henry. Don't ever turn down good cast iron when some fool is happy to part with it.”

_Sure. Why not._

* * *

Now he was inside the big fancy house and Miss Jenny was pulling him down a hallway.

“Do you have a full-sized bed?”

He nodded because yes, he did in his rucksack.

“Oh good! You like soft things, you'll love this bedding. We only have Queen-sized beds in our guest rooms these days. Follow me.”

The sheets were soft. He looked at Miss Goldie. She rubbed it between her fingers. 

“Can't hardly buy new ones this nice,” she said. “The ones they make overseas now hardly amount to a hill of beans.

* * *

Finally, Miss Goldie cut him off because clearly he and Miss Jenny had no sense of self restraint. 

Harry paid. $147. What a bargain. Toward the end, Miss Jenny just started pulling out things she hadn't bothered setting out because she figured no one would buy them and he was saving her a trip to the Goodwill really.

Miss Goldie muttered, “There is no way you're fitting all of that in my car.”

Harry just grinned at her. Then he took out his little notepad and scribbled, “I'm an ace at packing. Just give me some space and leave it to me.”

She threw her hands up in the air and stalked off to see Miss Jenny about some plant starts.

Harry wasn't so much an ace at packing, as he was able to make judicious use of his rucksack. He did have to slightly shrink the chair just a bit to get it in the backseat. But it _looked_ like he had crammed everything in and that was the important part. But just to be safe, he cast a very mild _Notice-Me-Not_ charm on the rear half of the car. 

After a while, Miss Goldie came over with an old pickle jar of water with some leaves hanging out of it. She snorted.

“You got it all crammed in after all?”

He beamed.

“You're the one explaining all this to Daryl.”

Harry glowered and yanked out his little notepad and wrote, “Don't ever tell Daryl anything. It's a surprise. Please”

She held her hands up. “Okay.”

* * *

She quizzed him over directions before she turned the car toward home.

“Daryl home?”

He shrugged. He had no idea.

“Guess we'll see.”

Daryl's truck was gone. Harry was glad he could unload everything and set it up in peace.

He unloaded the car, and gave Miss Goldie a hug in thanks. It shocked her. But she hugged him back. 

“Go on, enjoy your vengeance,” she said, waving goodbye and then she drove off.

Harry went inside and got to work. First he found the perfect place for his new chair. Then he resized it, well, oversized it a bit really. Then he laid that heavenly grey blanket over its back. Then he hung the pretty white eyelet curtains up in the kitchen and resized them to fit. He ate a snack and got supper started on the stove. Then he pulled a floor lamp he remembered from the cabin out of his rucksack and placed it next to his chair. 

He busied himself taking things out of his rucksack, putting things in his rucksack, and stashing things here and there around the house. 

Finally, Harry heard the rumble of Daryl’s truck. 

* * *

Daryl drove up and shut off his truck. And sat there. He’d come straight home, not stopping by Goldie’s. He didn’t want to see her face telling him the kid wasn’t there. But now he was home, not wanting to go in the house and find out he was gone.

* * *

Harry stood at the window, hands on his hips. _The hell is taking him so long?_

Finally, Daryl got out of the truck, but he sure was taking his own sweet time walking up to the house. 

_Oh._ He looked like a kicked crup. Something horrible must have happened.

Harry yanked open the door and apparently scared the shit out of Daryl which normally would have been _hilarious._

“Oh my God, Dare, did someone die?”

“Huh?”

Harry was pulling him in the house. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

Daryl hid behind his hair. 

“Are you hurt?” Harry started poking at the likely places.

“Quit that. Ain’t hurt.”

“Well?”

“Figured you’d come to your senses and cleared out.”

“I _said_ I was going to Goldie's.”

Daryl looked all kicked puppy and glum. 

“You was real mad at me. Ya didn’t yell at me and ya didn’t hit me, so that left leavin’.”

“I’m not leaving. Are you…do you want me to leave?”

“No!” Daryl said, then grumbled, “Told ya I ain't never sendin’ ya away.”

“This is my first real home. You're stuck with me, Daryl Dixon. I'm never leaving.” Then he got a cheeky grin. “Even if you are an idiot.”

“And an asshole,” Daryl muttered.

“Yeah well, I gave myself a nickel for every time you’ve been an arsehole and went shopping.”

Daryl peeked out from under his hair.

“Them curtains?”

“You may paw them after you’ve showered.”

Daryl took a good look around. “The hell’d ya go?”

“Miss Jenny was having a yard sale.”

“Who the fuck is Miss Jenny?”

“Some lady with more money than sense according to Miss Goldie.”

After Harry got Daryl sent off for a shower, he curled up in his new chair with his new blanket and plotted with a small stack of cookbooks. _Heaven._

While Harry had originally envisioned keeping his own little soft nest all to his spiteful self, seeing Daryl standing there still dripping a bit after his shower, looking like a scolded dog who knew better than to _look_ at the good furniture, let alone think about getting on it, _well, fuck._ It turned out that lording his luxury over someone who looked miserable made him sick to his stomach. At least he knew he wasn't turning into Malfoy. _Merlin, I am the biggest arsehole._

 _Oh Dare._ Usually he was all gruff and grumble, but seeing him like this made Harry’s heart ache. 

“Come on, Dare. Supper’s ready. Let’s eat at the table.”

Daryl gave a quick slight nod, but he wouldn't look at him. Harry rolled his eyes and whipped the tea towel off his shoulder.

“Come here, your hair’s still dripping.”

Harry met him halfway and rubbed the towel all over Daryl’s head, much to his annoyance and Harry’s delight when he got that shaggy mess of hair standing up every which way. 

Harry laughed. “I love your hair.”

No smartass comeback. Daryl just hunched his shoulders and ducked his head like that would stop his ears from turning red. 

They had vegetable soup and mashed sweet potatoes and chocolate mousse for dessert. Harry felt a little guilty about supper, especially after Daryl ate it without saying a word except “Thanks.” Not even one little glare. He didn't even ask what the fuck he'd gone and done to the chocolate pudding. 

* * *

Hen asked him to come help him with something else he bought, so he followed him into their bedroom. Daryl narrowed his eyes at the hickory log bed frame and full mattress tipped up against the wall.

“I didn't want to mess with your bed without asking,” Hen said.

Daryl's eyes went wide. _Shit._

“Once I finally got a room and a bed, I used to hide stuff under my mattress as a decoy, the important stuff was under the floorboard.” Hen turned to look at him. “Why are your ears turning red? Dare?”

Forget his ears, his entire everything was turning red. He sunk behind his hair, but wished he could sink through the floor.

“I…uh…same.”

The little shit leaned in, all interested. “Do tell.”

Daryl elbowed him, but not hard. _“Nosy.”_

Hen laughed and said, “You have no idea.”

“Stole some of Merle’s skin mags. I was about 15.”

“What?”

“Magazines with pictures of naked women.”

Hen scrunched up his face.

 _Yeah,_ Daryl thought.

“Do you _like_ looking at naked women?” Hen asked.

Now it was Daryl’s turn to look all disgusted.

“Hell no! But Daddy and Merle wouldn't leave me the fuck alone. Hoped it would get them off my back.”

“Did it work?”

“Course not. Merle started throwing skanks at me.”

“Huh?”

“Women he thought high and dumb enough, and with low enough standards to fuck his baby brother.”

Now it was like their faces were trying to out-disgust each other.

“After Daddy was gone, I finally told Merle I was asexual and wasn't ever gonna want to…with anyone.”

“Is that true?”

“Close enough.”

“What's that mean?”

_Christ, he was going to die of awkward._

“I ain't opposed to it. I just ain't ever gonna…find someone…to. So, it's easier, _safer_ to just say the other.”

“Safer than what?”

“Around these parts ya can't even let someone think ya would…”

 _You know,_ but clearly the little shit did not know, so Daryl continued not much above be a whisper, “Even look at another man.”

“Would you?”

“Would you?” Daryl snarled back.

“Hmm, I used to…there was this older boy, Oliver Wood, he was the Captain of our…sports team. I used to _like_ watching him—”

“In the showers?”

Hen turned red and quickly said, _“Play._ I was going to say play.”

“Mmm hmmm.”

“Would you?”

“Told ya it don't matter. Ain't never gonna find—”

“If you magically found someone, would it be a man?”

“Wouldn't be no woman. Don't _ever_ let Merle or anyone know that.”

“I won't, Dare. I swear.”

“’sides, I'd probably knock the block offa any guy who thought of touchin’ me anyway.”

Hen just said, “Come on, let's get the new bed set up.”

* * *

Later, curled up in their new bed, Daryl asked, “You didn't want to look at the nudie pics?”

“Ick.”

“What do ya mean ‘ick’?”

“When I was younger I'd get all tingly around people. But I don't get that way anymore. Is that weird?”

“Never heard of hormones makin’ a person _less_ crazy.”

Hen smacked at him. “But then this last year, I kissed a girl I always thought I'd fancied, but—” he made a face “—it was…wet.”

Daryl snorted.

Hen elbowed him, but added, “Of course it probably didn't help that she was crying.”

“Henry Dixon! What the fuck did you do to that poor girl?”

“Oh, she was crying about Cedric, her dead boyfriend. 

Daryl looked at him. “Jesus. Thinking I’m right to dread my first kiss.”

“At least I didn't punch her when she touched me.”

“Ya little shit,” Daryl said and tickled him a little. But then he stopped and asked, “What was Cedric like?”

“He was the _prettiest_ boy. And so nice.”

“And older?”

Hen giggled. “Yeah.”

“You fancy him too?”

“Looking back, yeah, I guess so. I mean, not _now,_ but I figured…”

“Yeah.” 

After they settled down, Hen kept rubbing his cheek against the soft sheets. 

Daryl muttered, “Damn cat.”

Hen gave the most pathetic excuse for a _meow,_ and then they both laughed.

Daryl tried to settle down and lie still, but he was restless.

“Now what's wrong? You don't like the bed?” Hen asked.

“Too soft.”

“What?”

Daryl spoke into his pillow. “Shouldn't get used to it. Don't deserve it.”

“Oh, Dare,” Hen said and started rubbing his face against Daryl's arm.

“The hell ya doin’ that for, thought ya was busy rubbin’ the top layer of your skin off on these here sheets.”

They settled down a bit and Daryl worked on gnawing through his bottom lip. Hen poked at him to stop it.

_Might as well finish dying of awkward. Can't turn any redder._

“Ya ain't never gotta hide nothin' from me, Hen. But don't ever let Merle know nothin’, ok?”

“Ok, Dare. And thanks. For telling me and everything. You don't have to hide anything from me either, okay?”

Daryl gave him his best _Are you're shitting me_ look.

“All right. Fair point. You should still tell me though. Just know that even when I utterly lose my shite and stomp off, I'll come back.”

Daryl was not convinced.

“I asked. You were right to tell me. It just hit me…wrong.”

Daryl snorted.

“I'm sorry I scared you,” Daryl grumbled ‘wasn't scared’, but Hen talked over him, “I was so furious.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

Hen snuggled in. Daryl just got stiffer and stiffer.

Hen lifted his head in exasperation and asked, “Now what?”

“It don't bother you? Me bein’…not straight?”

“Not one bit. Bit of a relief. Ron had a girlfriend and it was nauseating. She called him _Won Won.”_ Hen poked him in the ribs. “It doesn't bother you?”

“What? You checking out Oliver? Nah. What was he like?”

“Older. Fit.”

“What like athletic?”

“More like…attractive.” Harry mumbled, “Smoking hot.”

Daryl narrowed his eyes. “How old was he?”

“7th year, um 17?”

“How old was _you?”_

“11?”

Daryl growled.

“Oh no! He only cared about winning games! I just…enjoyed the scenery.”

* * *

The next morning, Daryl said, “Jesus, kid. Thought maybe with a bigger bed you'd be less of a cockleburr.”

“A what?”

“Those annoying little fuckers that cling to ya.”

“Oh? The sharp spiny ones?” and he attacked Daryl with his nails and sharp little teeth. 

Daryl couldn't hardly get out, "Them’s the one,” for laughing so hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Daryl. He's trying. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed our sweet boys. And I hope you have some lovely chocolate, if you go for that sort of thing. ❤️❤️❤️  
> I am totally going to bake a chocolate Bundt cake tomorrow with strawberries and whipped cream, never mind I meant to do it today.


	30. A Job for Young Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Harry get bit by the big fat quilting bug???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, deep in the heart of Winter Clusterfuck Texas this past week: "Well hell, this is _not_ how I wanted to do research for my apocalypse fanfic."

Harry was admiring the sunlight through the pretty new kitchen curtains when Daryl nudged him and nodded at his bowl of oatmeal.

“Don't let it get cold.”

Harry fished out a dried cranberry and ate it.

Daryl narrowed his eyes at it. “Thought them were for my cookies.”

“It's a big bag.”

Daryl’s lip curled in skepticism.

“And I bought two. Your cookie supply is safe. Quit fussing.”

“Ain't fussin’.”

Harry rolled his eyes and pointedly fished out another cranberry. 

“Goldie said we can start picking her cherries. Do you have work?”

“Yeah. Might finish early afternoon.”

“Should I pack you a lunch?”

Daryl didn’t answer at first, he just pushed some oatmeal around with his spoon, and Harry wondered if he was afraid of what Harry might pack him.

“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout me.”

“At least take a McDonald's gift card.”

“Nah. G’on, you keep it. Them Happy Meals don't grow on trees.”

“Nah, that'd be Chatty Meals.”

“Huh?”

“Squirrels.”

Daryl rolled his eyes, but he couldn't quite smother the chuckle.

* * *

That morning, as soon as Goldie invited him in, she said, “Oh, do I have a job for young eyes.” She pulled out some fabric and handed it to him and he looked at her in confusion and she said, “I need you to rip out the stitches.”

Then she held up a funny little tool with a pointy metal end which she called a seam ripper and she showed him how to use it.

“There. I need to fix my mistake, but it's hard to see those little stitches.” 

Harry ripped out the stitches and then carefully pulled the two fabric squares apart. He raised his eyebrows in question.

“I’m making quilt blocks.” She picked up another stack of fabric and showed him. “See here? You sew shapes together, squares are easiest. Sew the squares into rows and then the rows into a quilt top. Then you add batting and backing and quilt it together, and bind it.” 

He nodded.

Then she pulled a quilt off a wooden rack and unfolded it to show him. “Look it. Flour and feed used to come in cotton sacks.” She pointed to some of the prints. “People made dresses and shirts and all kinds of things out of it. This here plaid is from my daddy’s shirt. People didn't used to waste nothin’. You didn't just throw away a shirt, you cut out the good parts and you put the buttons in the button jar.” She looked at him and frowned. “You think I'm foolin’ ya?”

He shook his head with his best “no ma'am” face.

She pulled an old blue plaid buttondown shirt out of a sack. “My friend, Alice, she saved these for me, now look it here.” 

She whipped that shirt inside out and cut off the sleeves and then had him rip out the seams. When he had the first one done, she smoothed it out and got out a thick acrylic square template. She moved the square along the fabric, counting each time she moved it. 

“See, I can get six squares out of this one sleeve. And still have scraps leftover for smaller squares or triangles.”

She showed him how to use her rotary cutter to cut around the square.

“Don't throw away good fabric, Henry.”

He nodded. 

“Might as well cut the rest of this up and add it to my scrap box.”

After that was done, she showed him how to use her sewing machine and piece simple blocks together. 

“You sure are handy. Guess I know how you'll be paying tuition at Goldie Robinette’s School of Homesteading. Can’t hardly believe that boy asked for help.”

Harry's eyebrows nearly shot off his head. _He asked for help?!_

As if she read his mind, she said, “No, but he showed up with you. And that mess of cherries. Couldn't just ask. Thought he had to make it worth my while.”

“Most folk nowadays don't care to learn. Think it's a waste of time.” She scoffed. “That television is a waste of time. They're gonna be in for a world of hurt if they hit a rough patch.” 

She looked over his most recent block and nodded. “Looks like you took to sewing quicker than navigation.”

He almost rolled his eyes. 

She shook her finger, but then had to fight a smile, “You like learnin’ though, don't you, Henry? Being useful?”

He nodded.

“That's good. Dixons seem to hit more rough patches than most. Me and Daryll’ll get you squared away. As long as you can keep yourselves fed and warm.” Then she thought about it and said, “And healthy, you'll probably be all right.”

 _All right_ thought Harry. _Wouldn’t that be something._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look. We should all just be amazed I got even a short chapter out after this past fucking week. My family was very lucky, (spouse is also on the ball and super handy), and we are extremely thankful. But I am not gonna lie. I would like to stop having to boil water and I really really need a goddamn shower before I just give up and change my name to Daryl. 
> 
> I hope you and yours are safe.


	31. Redneck Parkour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning with our boys, featuring too much thinking and an adequate amount of snuggling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer gap between updates. February was extremely very WTF. 
> 
> I try to be mindful, but I don't know what to do about warnings sometimes or upon occasion I just completely miss things. But I'll point out that Harry thinks about his issues with food a bit in this chapter.

If Harry had to listen to one more mumbled “shouldn’t get used to nice things,” “don’t deserve nice things,” “you’re gonna make me soft,” out of Daryl Dixon’s sleepy mouth, he was going to…he was going to…well, he was probably going to pull a Molly Weasley and hug him to death. And bake more cookies. _Merlin._ It was like no one had ever done one nice thing for Dare. Which Harry could relate to. He remembered how overwhelming and confusing being treated like an actual person was. The shock of not just a decent meal, but the Gryffindor table groaning with what seemed like limitless food. Then, the bite of the stone floor against his knees as he threw up and up and up into the toilet, his stomach not knowing what to do with all that food. And even after Harry figured out that eating too much was what caused him to be ill, something still possessed him to eat an entire piece of chicken, potatoes, peas, a roll, and a big slice of treacle tart. And it kept possessing him, faced with all that food after a summer starving at the Dursleys. Once he started squirreling away food, something in him eased off. At least a little. Or maybe it just morphed, from _eat all the food now_ to _squirrel away food, every last bit you can hide._ He could shove most of the food into a pocket, instead of his mouth. Harry knew it was different for Dare, but he figured it was the same idea…maybe. At least Dare didn't crawl into the closet with a pillow and blanket for a week because he was so freaked out about sleeping in a bed for the first time. 

Harry would keep a hawklike eye out and any thing that brought even the slightest guilty twitch of undeserved pleasure from Dare, Harry would snatch it up by the caseload, shower him with… Harry was going to have to dial it back. Stealth soft. Stealth pleasure. Not so much all at once. Before Dare made good on his threat to go sleep in a tree. But that was fine. Harry was a sneaky sneaker who sneaks.

Harry supposed Dare had put up with Harry’s snit initially because he was confused when what was it he said? Harry hadn’t hit him or yelled at him or left. _Well._ He thought about _soft._ Now that he wasn’t in a seething rage. Had he been soft when he spared Pettigrew’s life? When he hadn’t been on the offensive in the graveyard with Cedric? When he hadn’t been able to _mean_ the crucio he cast on Bellatrix? 

He decided he could have as many creature comforts as he liked and just be hard when it came to protecting what's _his._ After all, he’d had zero comforts growing up, and that hadn’t kept him from those soft moments. And he had burned Quirrell to death with his bare hands at 11 and nearly died slaying the basilisk at 12. Comfy pillows didn't factor into it. He was going to ask for more shooting practice tomorrow. Hell, forget shooting practice, maybe what he needed was dodging practice. Without Quidditch and Harry Hunting, he needed something else to hone his reflexes and endurance. It wasn’t a matter of soft and hard, Harry didn’t think. Training and luck. He was going to work on his offense and not just his defense. Dare was looking out for him, training him even though he didn't have the first clue that Harry would have to face Tom some day. And even though it was Muggle means, Harry would take any advantage he could get. Better hand eye coordination, faster reaction times, no matter the improvement, Harry would take it.

* * *

Hen stretched his arms up above his head and made those little stretching groans he always made when he was wiggling around in bed first thing. Daryl pounced and nipped along Hen’s sides. Hen brought his arms down, but before Daryl thought to get loose, Hen started petting his hair. Daryl settled a little.

“Why you go raisin’ your arms? Ya know I'm gonna nip ya.”

Hen squeezed him with his elbows, but kept petting him. 

“You've fallen into my Dare trap.”

“Hrmph.”

When Hen started slacking with the petting, Daryl dug his chin into his ribs, just a little. The petting picked back up.

He didn't know how to identify, let alone trust, any feeling that wasn't anger or shame, but getting his hair petted kind of shut off his brain enough he could melt into it, if not enjoy it, instead of jumping out of bed in confusion.

“Hey Dare, I want more shooting practice, but I've been thinking, I could use some dodging practice too.”

Daryl didn't even lift his head.

“Hmm?”

“Back home, I had sports and getting chased by my cousin’s gang.”

Daryl whispergrumbled. “‘s not your home no more.”

Hen probably thought he was making noises about getting out of bed, because he picked up the petting. 

Finally Daryl lifted his head enough to be heard, “Ain't ya gotta help Miss Goldie put up them cherries we picked?”

“Shite!” Hen shot out of bed like his ass was on fire.

* * *

“Whatcha mean ya ain't never had a water balloon fight?” Dare said. 

Harry just shrugged and looked around the little park. He didn't think Dare should really be surprised at this point.

Dare lifted the lid on the old red metal cooler. 

“All ya gotta know is run and don't get hit.”

Harry ran.

It sure was a picture, Dare running full tilt, chasing Hen. His shaggy sun-bleached hair flopping in the breeze, long legs eating the distance. 

Harry sure got his dodging practice in. But he gave nearly as good as he got. 

After the last balloon was burst, against Dare’s back, they went over and sat in the swings.

“Don't go thinking this counts as your bath,” Harry teased, twisting in his swing to tap Dare’s knee with his foot.

Dare grabbed his ankle. “Careful, you're gonna find yourself dodging lug nuts and carriage bolts next time.”

Harry laughed.

Dare just threw his foot off his leg, but not too hard. He took a couple of steps to the swing set poles and grabbed a hold, body jerking side to side as his hands worked their way up the slanted poles, until he got high enough he could reach the big silver crossbar and then he pulled himself up with those arms. Dare sat up there, looking down, brows furrowed, late afternoon sun glinting off the light streaks in his hair. 

“Why’d ya stop?”

“Huh?” Harry finally said. Then he looked around and realized he had stopped swinging. He kicked off.

Dare snorted.

Harry pumped his legs harder and harder until he got as high as he could go and then he leapt. It wasn't a broom, but that brief instant was as close as he could get to flying.

Harry started climbing up the poles to join Dare, he had a harder time of it, but Dare wasn't too much of a dick about it. Harry bumped shoulders.

“It’s nice being on a playground and not worrying about getting my arse beat by my cousin and his gang. This was fun. Thanks.”

Dare gave a short nod. But then he got that little smile. "We'll see how big a fan of redneck parkour ya are after I run ya through the woods and chase ya across a couple rooftops. See if ya can get outta some duct tape handcuffs." 

Harry grinned and said, "Bring it!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you are safe and sound and soon to be eating something tasty.


End file.
